Recollection
by comewhatmay.x
Summary: They'll pick up the pieces separately, but they'll piece them back together in each other's embrace. After a six-month absence, Chuck returns home to win back Blair's heart. Then again, the course of true love never did run smooth.
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE

* * *

_June 2010_

"Don't mention his name again," Blair warns her dangerously. "This summer is all about forgetting, remember?"

"But-"

"No buts, Serena. Now, does this dress make me look fat?"

...

_July 2010_

"Chuck," she whispers into the phone. "Chuck, please come home. Everyone's worried."

She sighs as she hangs up the phone, preparing to call him again. Preparing to hear the recorded voicemail message once more.

_You've reached Chuck Bass…_

_..._

_August 2010_

Blair sighs happily up at the TV, a box of chocolates at her feet and a gin martini in hand. It is their second to last night in Paris, and the two girls had opted for staying in their luxurious suite at the Ritz, with Audrey on the TV and free-flowing alcohol.

"How is Lily?" she asks as Serena returns from the balcony, phone in hand.

"Fine," Serena says, uneasiness creeping into her voice. "She still hasn't heard from-"

"He's either fucking some brainless European whore or drinking himself into oblivion. Nothing unusual. Nothing to worry about."

She is sill staring at Audrey as she speaks, but her knuckles turn white on the stem of her glass. As she recalls a conversation made in the dead of the night.

"_Charles Bass," she enunciated._

"_How much?" the voice on the other end answered._

"_No limits. I'll send a picture in the morning." A single tear escaped, and Blair covered the mouthpiece on the phone, lest the PI hear her sobs._

Serena knows enough not to push the subject further.

"So what are you going to say to Louis? You know you'd love it if he came back to New York with us."

…

_September 2010_

"And then we went to Daniel for dinner, and he gave me the most perfect bracelet. It's white gold with-"

"You hate white gold," Serena reminds her best friend with a small laugh.

"Says who?" Blair nearly growls in return. "Trust me, when you see it, you'll love it as well."

"Whatever you say, B" Serena placates, a small smile playing on her lips as she held the phone closer to her ear.

"How did the dinner go?" Blair asks, her eyes still affixed to her wrist. "Rufus still lamenting over Jenny? Dan still acting awkward?"

"More or less," Serena agrees with another laugh. "Actually, B…"

She sighs. "Spit it out, S."

"Have you heard from Chuck?" Serena's voice carries a note of worry. "Mom mentioned it tonight at dinner, and she was wondering if you'd heard anything from him. The police haven't had any luck."

Blair is quiet, and Serena had to wonder if she was still on the phone. "B?" she prompts.

Blair shuts her eyes tightly as tears threaten to escape. Four hundred and seventy eight calls. Not one of them had been answered before his phone had been disconnected completely.

"No."

…

_October 2010_

"It's just, he's never disappeared for this long before," Lily explains to Rufus once more. "It's been five months Rufus. Five months."

"He took advantage of my _daughter_," Rufus all but snarled. "My eighteen-year-old daughter. How can you spend all this time looking for him when he's probably lying in a drug induced haze somewhere exotic?"

"He's not," Lily says firmly. "This is Charles. He's my son. I can't just _not_ look for him Rufus, please understand. Jenny even admitted-"

"He took advantage of her, no matter what everyone else convinced Jenny to say. If you want to waste your time on the worthless human being that is Chuck Bass, that's your decision."

Lily's eyes turned steely, and she picked up her bag, shouldering it as she turned towards the elevators.

"Don't speak about my son like that."

"Lil, I didn't mean-"

But she was gone.

...

_November 2010_

"Mom?"

Lily sat on the couch, legs tucked under her elegantly as she held the singular sheet of paper in her hand.

"What's wrong?" Erik prompts, moving towards the couch. Late nights had been no stranger to Lily the past few months, her tireless search for Chuck coupled with her attempts to keep the Empire running on his part had worn her down considerably.

"It's Chuck," Lily said tearfully, proffering the paper she held in her hand.

_Call off the search party. Coming back tomorrow._

_-Chuck

* * *

_**AN: Why yes, another S4 fic! I wanted to get this out before we got too far into S4's plot, and like Atonement I hope to have it done soon. Also, I am borrowing a page from twilight's fandom for this story. I'll send all reviewers a teaser for the following chapter:) Hugs to bethaboo for being an awesome beta, and if any of you have twitter follow me (****_stephau),**** bethaboo (bethaboo555) have been hosting GG watchalongs live (9PM PST Mondays) and non-live (to get through Eva angst!) on twitter ggwatchalong.  
**


	2. Chapter 1

**AN: Eva who?**

**Thanks to bethaboo for being a fantabulous beta, and to everyone who reviewed, alerted, and/or favorited! Teasers have been sent out with review replies, and I'll continue to send out teasers to anyone who's reviewed:)**

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_December 2010_

The room is bathed in near darkness, the heavy curtains drawn against the expansive windows. The few shafts of dying afternoon light illuminate the bottles on the ground and tint his dark brown hair golden. She squints just enough to make out a joint on the table and the lingerie draped over the table.

The stench that permeated the room wafts under her nostrils, causing her to wrinkle her nose in distaste as she steps over shards of broken glass.

His eyes are closed, his head tipped back against the side of the couch. His profile, she thinks, is quite possibly the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. His angular jaw slopes down to an exposed chest, the once pastel blue button-up now missing a few buttons and sporting a few stains. His sleeves are rolled up haphazardly, exposing strong, bloodied forearms. His left palm is open to the sky, an angry red gash slicing diagonally through the snow of his skin. And his right palm is closed around a dangling bottle, its contents drained.

"Go away Serena,"

His eyes remain closed, and she wonders (_hopes_) that if he were sober, if the stench weren't masking her telltale violet perfume, that he would know- "It's not Serena,"

His hearing hasn't been impaired, she thinks drily as she watched him struggle to his feet. Too fast, she realizes, as he crumpled back down to the couch.

"What are you doing here?"

The question is simple, the delivery complex. His voice is harsh and raspy, a shadow of the deep and sensual intonation she usually associated with Chuck Bass. His lips are taut, pressed together in a thin line.

His eyes, however, are wide with hope.

"You're a mess," she tells him instead, breaking free from his unwavering gaze by looking to the left. To the bedroom.

"It's empty," he says, effectively answering her unspoken question. "What are you doing here?"

Chuck takes a few steps forward, his world teetering around the petite brunette in front of him.

"Serena told me," she tells him breathlessly, in part because she had been holding her breath since entering the room. "Chuck, I didn't-"

"Serena talks too much." He dismisses her concern with a wave of his hand as his world spun once more.

"Chuck," She is pleading. What for? He doesn't understand. "Talk to me."

"About?" he sneers finally giving in to the spinning room and collapsing on the couch once more.

"You were shot."

"The stinging pain through my abdomen tells me as much." He retorts easily, wondering who the _hell_ had chosen such uncomfortable couches to furnish his apartment.

"I didn't-no one..."

"I didn't want you to know."

"Why?" she whispers, her eyes tracing his fallen form with quiet reverence.

"I don't need your pity, _Blair_." He scoffs. "Go back to your perfect fairytale with your perfect fucking Prince."

Blair shook her head vehemently. "I can't leave you like this. God knows you'd probably choke on your own vomit."

"Like I said, I don't need your pity-" But then she is next to him, close, _too close_, and through his own stench he can smell the faint whispers of violets. It is too much, to have her _close_ for the first time in months, even if he was watching her through half-lidded eyes. His anger dissipates with alarming speed, and it takes all his willpower not to kiss her.

The fact that he was also barely able to keep his eyes open may have helped as well.

"Come on Bass," she grunts, heaving him up as best she could. From Serena's party days, she knew that a person weighed about twice as much as normal when drunk. Chuck was no exception, his larger frame overwhelming her petite one as she struggled under his weight.

"Why are you here?" he asks again, his nose now nuzzled into her hair.

"Serena-"

"No," he growls. "Why are you _really_ here, Blair?"

"I don't know," she admits honestly "Come on Bass, let's get you to bed."

"Will you be joining me?"

She shakes her head in mock repulsion as she helps him struggle to his feet and Chuck knows that he is not at the top of his game.

It takes them fourteen minutes, several falls, and more than a few lewd comments, but eventually Blair gets him into bed, his shoes off, blankets tucked around him as a mother would for a child.

Blair takes one last glance at his sleeping face; at the gentle slope of his shoulders; at the rise and fall of his chest.

She could swear she heard his voice as she closed his bedroom door.

_I miss you._

…

When he wakes the next morning, the pounding headache blocks out almost everything. Almost. _She _is present in the air, the pillow beside him, the morning sunlight that filtered through the blinds. _She_ had settled into his skin, the lingering violets invading his mind.

_Blair was here_ is the only thought in his tired mind as he stumbles towards the bathroom.

…

"Oh good, you've showered." The waiting blonde says with glee. "I was beginning to think you'd completely forgone the concept of personal hygiene."

He shoots her a purposeful glare, marching towards the cupboard, in search of-

"There's an aspirin and glass of water," Serena nods towards the aforementioned items that sat in the middle of the marble counter.

Grunting in response, Chuck downs the two pills with ease, Serena's bright smile doing nothing to alleviate his mood.

"Mom's worried about you," Serena offers with another brilliant smile, which he supposes was meant to lighten his stormy expression.

"She's not my mother." He growls back, his heart giving a painful twitch at the thought of his _real_-or was she even real?-mother.

"Right," Serena says, undeterred as always. "But she's worried about you. We're having dinner again tonight and-"

"Lily has no reason to worry," Chuck snarls. "And I have plans tonight."

"Chuck," Serena warns, "She's genuinely worried about you. You don't go out, you apparently don't sleep, and when you _do_ go out it's a wonder you manage to find your way home at all. What with the surger-"

"Right," he shoots back with a laugh of derision "The shooting. I am eternally grateful to you for telling Blair about something I wished to keep from her."

"She would have found out eventually," Serena reasons. "Besides, she had a right-"

"She lost her right to know when she told me to never speak to her again." Chuck replies darkly.

"Can you blame her?" Serena asks gently. "You'd just slept with-"

"Don't say her name," Chuck said warningly, and it seemed that he had the same aversion to the girl's name as Blair.

"She was hurt," Serena tells him in that all-knowing way of hers that Chuck found as irritating as her cheery voice. "She's _still_ hurt."

"I don't need her pity," Chuck retorts angrily. "She's got the Prince, she's moved on."

Serena only shook her head sadly. "Chuck, she's still hurt. _You_ betrayed her. You sold her out for your hotel. And when she forgave you, you were sleeping with-"

"And?" Chuck cuts in, his voice steel.

"And you still love each other," Serena reasons. "Even if you don't want to believe it. You both still love each other."

"I'll always love her," he says fiercely. "There was never any doubt about it. Even when a bullet was burrowing itself into my side, even when I was lying in a pool of my own blood."

Serena nods emphatically, having known from the moment Blair had come back with Marcus 2.0 that she was not over Chuck in the least.

"What happened that night?" Serena asks, uninhibited curiosity seeping into her voice. "You refused to tell anyone when you came back. You disappeared for _six_ months, Chuck."

He studies Serena closely; knowing that every tiny scrap of information he fed her would be passed on to her best friend.

"It's none of your business," he spits out instead.

He turns on his heel, ignoring the ringing in his ears as he stomped towards his bedroom, leaving a dumbfounded Serena in the middle of an empty kitchen.

…

_November 2010_

"Charles!" The cry is heard round the airport as Lily nearly assaults him. He winced as she hugged him tightly, partly from the odd display of affection, and partly from the still slightly painful wound.

"I didn't expect a welcome home committee," he comments dryly. But the sight of the three van der Woodsens and Nate gives him a faint reminder of _family_.

"We were worried about you man." Nate says as he steps forward, clapping Chuck on the back. "You disappeared for six months."

"Unfinished business," Chuck says with a well-practiced smirk. "I apologize for causing unnecessary worry."

"Please," Serena says with a roll of her eyes. "It was a welcome respite."

But the smile she gives him says otherwise.

"Well I'm glad to have you back," Eric jumps in. "I was missing my usual Wii-opponent."

"I played Wii with you!" Nate says, his eyes wide with faux-hurt.

"And you let me win every time," Eric responds with a smirk that was eerily similar to Chuck's.

"I didn't," Nate colors, and the group burst out in laughter.

"It's quite alright Nathaniel," Chuck says with a comforting pat on his friend's back. "Not everyone can excel at everything like I can. Just be glad you're pretty."

The laughter from the group is almost enough to distract him from a brunette exiting the building, her brown curls twisted into a bun at the nape of her neck. His gaze travels over her grey trench coat and navy flats, the trademark white headband encrusted with jewels. He watches intently as she steps into a waiting car, without looking back.

On the other side of the group, Serena observes her stepbrother as he watches her best friend. She knew Blair would be here, if only to see with her own eyes that Chuck was alive. Her best friend had lived in denial the past six months, refusing to say or hear his name, as she had done with Jenny. Blair had thrown herself into schoolwork at Columbia, had even attempted to fall in love with a real-life Prince that even Serena knew was only Marcus 2.0. Only apparently this Prince was head-over-heels in love with Blair and not sleeping with his cougar of a stepmother.

Serena wonders, as she watched the expressions flit across Chuck's face, if it was possible that a Chuck & Blair reunion was on the horizon.

If Chuck's expression and Blair's hidden presence meant anything at all, it was that their reunion might have been inevitable, but that didn't mean it was going to be easy.

…

"Charles?"

He looks up in surprise, the glass of scotch halfway to his lips as Lily steps into the penthouse.

"Lily," he replies easily. "I agreed to your dinner, must you really-"

"I came to discuss this."

The file she tosses at the table in front of him is full to bursting, to say in the least.

"I haven't shared most of its contents with Serena and Eric. But I wanted to discuss something with you first."

He looks at her with an expression of disinterest, masking the fear that gnaws at his stomach.

"There's hospital records in there, Chuck."

"How?"

"Your PIs are good," Lily admits. "But they only found out you were in the hospital a month after you had left. Chuck-"

By now, he knows that it is futile to attempt lies. He can only prepare for the outcome of this.

"I was mugged and shot in an alleyway in Prague. There's nothing more to it."

He dismisses her as easily as he dismisses his feelings.

…

"Chuck." Serena stands in the entryway, as he regards her from his usual place at the bar, customary glass of scotch in hand.

"Serena." He mimics the tone of her voice with apparent irritation. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I wanted to talk to you about Blair."

"Ah," his eyes darken slightly. "I take it you knew she was at the airport as well."

Serena nods, "When you were gone she-"

"Was incredibly distraught?" he asks, though Serena could tell the comment was half-hearted.

"She's dating someone," Serena says instead.

"Who?" he asks, as though he were commenting on the weather. "Another rugby player? Or perhaps another Lord?"

"A Prince" Serena admits sheepishly.

"That must be a dream for her," Chuck replies darkly. "Living out her fairytale."

"She didn't want to believe you were gone," Serena explains. "She denied it as much as she could, pretending everything was okay."

Serena stands up from the bar, having said her piece.

"If she thinks I'm just going to let her-"

"I just thought you should know." She tells him quietly as she pressed the button for the elevator.

…

"You _told_ Serena?" he hisses, and Lily looks on calmly, the picture of serene tranquility.

"Yes. Eric, too."

"Why?" he rasps out.

"They don't understand, Charles. They deserve to understand."

"It wasn't your secret to tell," he murmurs. "I don't need their pity."

"You'll understand in time," she tells him sadly. "Chuck, you can't keep denying that you have a family-and this is what families do. They support each other. You don't have to take everything upon yourself."

He nods his affirmation, and Lily knows that this is the best response she can hope for.

But inside, he is reeling with the aftereffects of the one word.

_Family._

…

"Waldorf," he says as he sidled up next to her at the bar, the first time he had caught her alone that night. The first time the dark-haired blue-eyed Prince had not been attached to her side.

"Chuck," she returns primly. "I see you've returned."

"Drop the act Waldorf," he tells her with a smirk. "I know you were at the airport the day I arrived. Tell me, did it pain you to leave without saying hello?"

"I simply wanted to make sure the rumors were true," Blair retorts haughtily. "Apparently being missing for six months does create some sort of interest."

"So you were worried about me." He has always reveled in his sole ability to make her squirm.

"Only for Eric and Lily's sake," she shoots back. "Lily was in hysterics for most of the time, and Eric-"

She trailed off, and he knew what she was referring to. Jenny had left, and Chuck had left, causing the slightest of downward spirals for the littlest van der Woodsen. He had lashed out in anger at first, blaming Chuck for everything that had happened with Jenny. But when months had passed with nary a word form Chuck, Eric had spiraled into depression once more.

Only this time, it appeared that Serena and Lily had learned the importance of _being there_.

"You'll always love me," Chuck tells her confidently. "No matter how many Princes or Lords you have to distract you. It'll always be me in the end."

"You assume too much." Blair bites out venomously. "You think you can just disappear for six months and I'll just fall back into your arms when you come back?"

"No," he tells her with a smirk. "That would make it too easy. That's not like you at all, Waldorf. You like it, don't you? Me chasing after you, scheming my way back into your life."

"You're wrong," she retorts. "I meant what I said in front of that hospital Chuck."

"You didn't mean it then, and you don't mean it now. I can see it, in the way you prance around with that Prince on your arm. This is just to make me jealous, isn't it?"

"Have you really misled yourself into thinking that I dated someone for _six_ _months_ solely to make you jealous when you decided to return?"

"I didn't disappear for the sake of disappearing, Blair. I had something important-"

"I don't care." She punctuates each word with the fiercest glare she could manage. "You are no longer of any importance to me."

And she walks away, leaving him too brokenhearted to notice that there was a quaver in her words.

That was the first night in a while that he drank himself into oblivion, completely disregarding the doctor's advice.

…

_December 2010_

Chuck stands, back to the doors as he listens to the elevator make its way back down to the lobby, leaving the penthouse quiet once more.

Her scent still lingers in the recesses of his mind, the way she had felt against him as she supported his weight.

Chuck closes his eyes as his palm screams out in pain, the cut from the previous night still fresh. He had smashed the bottle flat against the wall, relishing in the pain that resulted from the glass cutting into his palm.

But now, as he makes his way swiftly to his closet, he forgot-if only for a moment-the phantom pain in his abdomen, the stinging pain of his palm.

Because there, buried under pastel bowties and wrapped almost lovingly in his old scarf, held the reason why he had been missing for six months.

He unwraps the scarf slowly; the layers of red, navy, and white falling away like autumn's leaves. A tiny black box sits in the palm of his hand, a new box he had purchased once he had finally found the object he had been searching for.

Chuck cracks the box open with deliberate slowness, revealing the diamond within.

The glittering, six-carat diamond that he had risked his life for in an alleyway in Prague.

The diamond that he had searched for, blindly following leads for the three-and-a-half months he had after leaving the hospital.

When he had found it, there had been no victory cry, no smile of jubilation. Instead, there had been a broken sigh of tired relief.

* * *

tbc


	3. Chapter 2

**AN: Those six months are crucial to the plotline. You'll find out why later in the story, but let's just say I have a completely irrational fear about S4 and this is me quelling that fear. Much love to bethaboo for being a kickass beta (and twitter friend). **

**Georgina doesn't exist here (not that I totally don't love D/G. Or Milo. Who is adorable. But having too many SLs will complicate the story beyond necessity). **

**Also, lobster ravioli is the best. You know what else is the best? Everyone who reviewed, favorited, and alerted. There was an alarming amount of alerts and favorites to this story, and thank you all! I love each and every one of you. Will continue to send out teasers in review replies to those who have reviewed!  
**

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"How was Charles?"

Lily sets down her teacup daintily, eyeing her daughter in front of her warily.

"The same," Serena mutters. "At least he'd showered this time. Though I think that may have been because Blair was there."

"Blair visited him?" Lily knit her eyebrows, and though she had always thought of Blair as another daughter, she hadn't been entirely complacent with Blair's hatred of Chuck.

"I told her," Serena admits guiltily. "About the shooting."

"Serena!" Lily admonishes, though it is half-hearted. "It wasn't—"

"It wasn't my place. I know. But who else would've told her? She's off in her fantasy world, pretending to be a princess."

"Blair has always had royal tendencies," Lily remarks drily. "Serena, darling, what did you tell her?"

"I told her he was shot in Prague, though I didn't know why." It is Serena's turn to assume a puzzled expression, and Lily only nods.

"And I'm to assume Chuck didn't tell you why last night?"

"Of course not," Serena says with a roll of her eyes. "I've been asking him, but I don't think he'll ever tell me. He knows were my true loyalties lie."

"With Blair," Lily affirms. "Serena, I know Blair is like a sister to you, but you have to remember. Charles is family."

"Family," Serena says hollowly. "Mom, I never—"

"He needs us," Lily reminds her gently. "Don't forget that."

The two sit across from each other, both immersed in their own thoughts of the word _family_.

"So what did Blair say?" Lily asks, breaking Serena's reverie.

"She didn't say anything for a while, just kept playing with that ruby ring of hers. And when I prompted her to say something, she only excused herself in that way only Blair Waldorf can. I guess she went to see Chuck after that."

"Blair and Chuck," Lily says tiredly, closing her eyes. "Those two…"

"I know Mom," Serena sighs. "They're so complicated I can't even begin to keep up."

"No," Lily says with a shake of her head. "They're not complicated at all. Simply too unwilling to face what's right in front of them."

"That they love each other?" Serena questions dubiously. "They'll always be Blair and Chuck…but you don't think they've gone too far?"

"The fact that they can continue to hurt each other so only confirms the fact that they love each other," Lily tells her, a note of longing in her eyes.

Serena looks at her mother, reflecting on her mother's words as she played with her now empty teacup.

"I think you're right," Serena says quietly, and in an instant Lily knows that they are no longer talking about Blair and Chuck. From the wistful, thoughtful expression on her daughter's face, Lily would hazard a guess at that they've turned to Nate Archibald. But before she can say anything, Serena is standing up and shouldering her purse, a look of apology on her face. "I promised Blair I'd go shopping with her for a dress for tonight's dinner, but I'll see you here tonight?"

"Rufus is staying in Hudson for another couple days," Lily says. "So it'll be just Eric, you, and I. Shall I have Marco make lobster ravioli?"

"You know us too well," Serena responds with a smile. "I'll see you tonight."

"Serena?" Lily calls out tentatively, and Serena pauses slightly, bracing herself for Lily's next words.

"Will Charles be joining us tonight?"

"No," Serena mutters, loud enough for Lily to hear. It had been a question posed every Sunday night, answered the same every day.

Lily attempts a smile as she waves a farewell to her daughter, but the smile drops from her face almost instantly, revealing tired lines of worry and despair.

Picking up her teacup and lifting it daintily to her lips, Lily reflects on Chuck, on Blair, on their troubled relationship.

They betrayed each other—more than once, each betrayal more painful than the last. Though her knowledge only extended so far, Lily knew that Chuck had hurt Blair before he had left. Something had happened outside that hospital, a situation she was not privy to. But the pieces Lily had pieced together told her enough.

And when six months had passed with nary a word, Lily had thrown herself into finding her lost son. Eighteen PIs and tens of thousands of dollars to find him, yet he had evaded her best men and come home on his own. What had brought him back, Lily had yet to know.

What Lily _did _know was that Blair had found a Prince to replace the hole in her heart. A real-life Prince with a title and blue eyes, crown jewels and a worldly air about him. Lily hadn't liked Louis from the start, then again, her tastes had never run towards worldly and respected. More towards the scruffy, rocker end of the spectrum.

Though Lily and Rufus' relationship had been strained as of late, her insistence in finding Charles irritating Rufus to no end. Though Lily couldn't understand his hatred. Jenny had told them that Chuck hadn't forced himself on her numerous times, and Rufus still harbored detestation for Charles.

Looking at a picture of Eric and Chuck on the mantelpiece, Eric's wide smile and Chuck's smirk captured forever in the wrought iron frame, Lily decided that she wouldn't sit by anymore.

Picking up the phone, Lily smiles slightly as she punches the numbers in.

"Leon? Please send Marco up when he comes by, and tell him lobster ravioli for four."

Standing up and straightening her skirt, Lily made her way over to the elevator, the phone still by her ear.

"Thank you. Also, could you please call a car for me? I need to be at the Empire."

…

Picking up yet another black silk dress, Serena watches warily from the sidelines as Blair eyes it scornfully.

"The ruffles on this are absolutely atrocious," she comments sardonically. "Who let _this_ into the store?"

Turning around with a huff, Blair storms off in the direction of her other love—shoes. Serena could only throw the salesgirl an apologetic smile before hurrying over to Blair.

"Blair," she chastises lightly. "You nearly gave the poor girl a heart attack."

Sniffing, Blair turns and throws Serena a haughty glare. "That was most definitely _not_ something I'd wear to a dinner at the Embassy. I'm beginning to doubt that I'll find anything here. Perhaps we should move onto Barney's?"

"Whatever you want B," Serena sighs, looking down at her poor feet. Blair had dragged her around town all afternoon, in search of the 'perfect' dress.

"You don't have to come," Blair replies scornfully. "I'm perfectly capable of shopping by myself."

"No, I love shopping with you, B." Serena says with a bright, artificial smile. "I just…"

"You just what?" Blair snaps, whipping around. Her patience has worn thin by this time, and Serena's presence only irritated her more.

"I can't stop thinking about Chuck," Serena confesses, and Blair tenses, her knuckles turning white against the display table.

"I know you went to see him last night," Serena chides. "Blair, he's a—"

"A mess. I know. As you said, I made the mistake of seeing him last night."

Blair's voice has grown quiet, and Serena knows that the mistake she is referring to was never really a mistake.

"What happened?" Serena asks quietly, searching Blair's impassive face.

A moment passes, in which Blair opens her mouth as if she is about to say something, her eyes betraying the feelings she kept inside.

But just as quickly, the moment is gone and Blair's face has resumed its blank expression once more.

"Nothing."

"B," Serena reproaches. "Something happened. Chuck was actually _showered_ this morning."

Blair wrinkles her nose slightly, recalling the stench of the penthouse.

"Did you talk to him?" Serena prompts, and Blair sighs, knowing that Serena would never leave well enough alone.

"It's somewhat difficult to have a conversation with someone when they're completely wasted." Blair snipes, and Serena sighs once more.

"He was shot," Serena reasons, and it's Blair's turn to roll her eyes.

"Wouldn't that give him reason _not_ to drink himself into oblivion?" Blair remarks, though the reminder makes her heart drop, if only a tiny bit.

"This is Chuck we're talking about," Serena shrugs. "And he's only drinking because—"

"Don't say it Serena," Blair warns, her voice dangerously low. "I'm happier now."

"Are you really?" Serena says skeptically. "The Prince is great, but—"

"The Prince is _perfect_." Blair corrects firmly. "We've been dating for six months and he hasn't hurt me _once_. Which is more than Chuck can say." She finishes haughtily.

"Alright," Serena acquiesces, knowing that she is fighting a losing battle. "So Barney's next? We still need a dress for you."

"Yes," Blair affirms, starting to walk purposefully towards the exit. "I still need to find the perfect dress. It's going to be a perfect night."

"Perfect," Serena grumbles.

…

It has become a bit of a routine, a never ending cycle that leads him to the bar each night and renders him useless in the mornings.

Today is no different.

Except that it is. Because the prior night had left him wondering, _hoping_, if Blair still cared about (_loved_) him. It gave him quite a bit to ponder, as he set about destroying his liver. Hell, if the bullet didn't kill him, the scotch would finish off the job eventually.

"Charles," Lily calls out, striding over to the bar. He is sitting there, slumped in his seat. From the looks of it, he is only on his first glass. Though Lily has to wonder as to why he is at the bar and not holed up in his room.

"Lily," he acknowledges, his eyes never leaving his glass. "What brings you here?"

"It looks like you don't have any plans for tonight, so I insist you join us for dinner."

"And have Rufus glowering at me over filet mignon?" Chuck counters. "No thank you Lily, and besides, I _do_ have plans tonight."

"With another bottle?" Lily asks distastefully. "Charles, you can't keep doing this to yourself. The doctors said—"

"To hell with the doctors," he growls, and Lily frowns.

"The alcohol can't be helping your—"

"I don't need your concern," Chuck spits out, but even in his state he can tell Lily is hurt. "You're not my mother."

There is a moment where Chuck's barricades fall, when the slightest of truth trespasses across his features, and his regret is on full display.

But the moment is gone in an instant, only to be replaced by passive indifference.

"Rufus is in Hudson," Lily says quietly as she slides off the barstool. "Dinner's at seven."

Chuck pretends he can't hear the pain in her voice as she strides away, but once Lily is out of sight he bangs his glass onto the counter and buries his head in his hands.

Lily may not have been his biological mother, but she had been closer to a parent than either his biological mother _or_ father. Chuck knew the extent of Lily's worry—as exemplified by the men she sent out to look for him. Evading them had not been easy, especially when he at one point or another had hired most of them. But that had also turned out to be an advantage because Chuck had been familiar with their various techniques and idiosyncrasies.

But without his usual legion of PIs at the tips of his fingertips, Chuck had discovered that tracking a six-carat diamond around Europe was no easy feat. He hadn't given up, three-and-a-half months of trekking through Europe and sleeping on old, musty cots only affirmed the fact that he was Chuck Bass—and Chuck Bass was no longer a coward.

…

"_I'm—"_

"_Yes?" the man asked, his English heavily accented. And Chuck made his decision in the blink of an eye._

"_I'm Henry," he croaked. "Henry Prince."_

…

"_Well, Mr. Henry," the doctor peered down at him. "You healing well. The infection is almost gone, and you leave soon."_

_Thank God, he nearly said as he flopped onto his pillows. The six weeks he had spent in the hospital had been nerve wracking in the least, partly because Henry Prince did not have the same sway as Chuck Bass had._

_But being Henry Prince was a hell of a lot easier than being Chuck Bass._

…

_Standing in the lobby of the hospital, Chuck Bass found himself lost._

_Lost in the sense that he didn't know where to start. He had been Henry Prince during his stay; paying for the hospital bills through a Parisian bank account Lily had no knowledge of. _

_He didn't want them to know—he didn't deserve their pity._

_And now, he didn't know what to do, didn't know where to start. The past weeks had been nerve-wracking in the least, but the one thing he knew for sure was that he had to find the ring._

_It couldn't be lost, he would never accept that. _

_Chuck knew that the damage between him and Blair was unfixable, a wound so deep that it could never be healed. And Chuck didn't—couldn't—begin to understand the enormity of his actions._

_But the ring was simple. If he could find it, maybe he could begin to fix things between them._

_Maybe._

…

"_Vilem," the man said, offering his hand towards Chuck._

"_Henry," Chuck said gruffly, shaking the man's hand. "You speak English?"_

_Vilem nodded, "I translate, but I cannot travel. My family—"_

"_I can pay you. As much as you need."_

"_I no—"_

"_Please," Chuck nearly begged. "I need a translator."_

"_I need money," the man agreed._

"_Good," Chuck said, a piece of is former bravado returning. "find me a capable PI. Money is no object."_

…

"_Damek says you a little boy," the Vilem told him, translating the guffaws of Czech of the other man. "He don't deal with—"_

"_I'm—"_

_Chuck sighed in frustration, clutching his side and breathing heavily. _

"_I have money," he said as a replacement for 'I'm Chuck Bass'. _

…

"_They go to Frankfurt." Vilem said, translating for Damek once more._

"_We'll go there then," Chuck said decisively._

_The man shook his head, "Damek say he will not leave Prague. Too much danger."_

"_Danger?" Chuck growled. "The only danger Damek faces is if—"_

_A stream of unintelligible Czech interrupted him, "He say he go if you double pay."_

"_Done."_

_There was never a limit._

…

"_I sorry, Mr. Henry. He say the muggers only stop here."_

"_Where did they go?" Chuck chokes out, his stomach screaming in pain as he lay on the uncomfortable mattress. His usual accommodations were out of the question, simply because he knew that Lily had PIs circulating his picture at every five star hotel in the vicinity. It was a miracle Damek hadn't figured out his true identity._

"_He try find out."_

_Groaning, Chuck attempted to roll onto his side, which only seemed to increase the pain. But he wasn't going to give up._

_This wasn't just a ring. It was Blair's ring._

…

"_A lead?" he asked excitedly, unable to keep the glee from his voice._

"_Leaving tomorrow," Vilem told him exhaustedly. "He say we leave tomorrow."_

_Chuck couldn't help the excitement that flooded his entire being, and he briefly wondered what was going back home. _

_He owed them a phone call. That much he knew. But hidden away in the back alleys of Europe and the shady motels, Henry Prince had flourished._

_Chuck Bass wouldn't survive here. Chuck Bass wouldn't have had the gumption to search for this long._

_He wasn't really Chuck Bass anymore._

_But without Chuck Bass, without his identity, Chuck was lost._

_So he held onto the one thing he knew, gripped onto the hope of finding the ring with all that he had._

…

_Kicking the door open with the toe of his unseemly shoes (they weren't even made of leather, but of some odd material he could only classify as lower class), Chuck let loose a stream of curses as he entered the room._

"_Mr. Henry, he say he sorry. So sorry." Vilem translated, the Damek bumbling in Czech. _

"_He led me on a wild goose chase," Chuck snarled. "Tell him Damek fired and get me a new PI. Tomorrow."_

…

"_Mr. Henry! You ok?"_

"_Yes," Chuck wheezed. "We need to keep going. There's a city up ahead?"_

_Vilem nodded emphatically. "Yes. And we report stealing to __policie."_

"_No," Chuck growled. "No police."_

"_But—"_

"_No buts. Is the PI there?"_

"_He meet us there, yes."_

_Chuck couldn't help the litany of curses as another wave of pain overtook his body, the exhaustion coupled with the still-healing wound becoming too much to bear._

_But he had to do this. For the ring. For Blair._

…

"_How much do you have?" the gruff voice asked, and Chuck was relieved to hear an American accent._

"_Enough," Chuck answered confidently. "As much as you want."_

_The man raised an eyebrow._

"_You're awfully eager to find this…what is it?"_

"_A ring."_

_Blair's ring._

"_Paul," the PI said, proffering his hand._

"_Henry."_

…

"_Mr. Henry—"_

"_I don't need a translator anymore,"_

"_But I…"_

_Chuck sighed, pushing the money into the Vilem's hands._

"_Mr. Henry!"_

"_It's all I have right now. Now go. Before I change my mind."_

"_You're good man," Vilem told Chuck. _

"_That's debatable," Chuck murmured._

"_No," he shook his head. "I spend lot of time with you. I see who you are. Good heart."_

_And Vilem left, a bounce to his step at the prospect of being reunited with his family, leaving Chuck pondering his words._

_Chuck Bass was ruthless, cold hearted, and utterly despicable—he could only truly be loved by one person. But Vilem's words rang in his head and stuck with him._

_Perhaps being Chuck Bass wasn't so bad after all._

…

"_You ready for this?"_

"_I've been sleeping in cots for the past three months. I'm fucking ready."_

"_These guys," Paul paused uncertainly. "They're not your ordinary street thieves. These guys are ruthless."_

"_And I'm not?"_

…

"_Well," Paul said meekly, handing him another bag of ice. "That didn't go as planned."_

"_No," Chuck agreed. "It didn't."_

"_You didn't have to punch him. He had three bodyguards."_

"_He didn't have the ring," Chuck said angrily. "What the fuck was I supposed to do?"_

…

_Chuck held the phone in his hand, a long-distance calling card in the other._

_It was hopeless. _

_Chuck had nearly died on that dilapidated street, had nearly bled out amongst dirty cobblestones because of that ring._

_And now he couldn't find it. They had searched all over Europe, slept in the worst motels in order to keep Chuck from being found._

_It was hopeless._

_He knew her number by heart, and his fingers tingled in excitement as they punched in the familiar sequence of numbers._

_His face, however, bore a different expression._

"_You've reached Blair Waldorf. Leave a message, and if you're important enough, I'll get back to you."_

_Chuck threw the phone down in frustration at the sound of the immediate voicemail, his head in his hands once more._

_The tugging feeling in his chest didn't stop him from calling the number eight more times._

_There had been so much conviction in her voice that night, when she had demanded he never speak to her again._

_But Chuck always knew her better than anyone else. And right now, he knew that Blair hadn't meant it._

_She never did, really._

_And suddenly, as only hearing her voice through tinny speakers could do, Chuck didn't think it was so hopeless anymore._

…

"_I've no leads," Paul grumbled, sitting down in front of an exasperated Chuck._

"_There's always a lead."_

"_Not this time," Paul shook his head. "I'm sorry Mr. Prince, but there's nothing else I can do."_

"_You're not giving up," Chuck told him menacingly. "Not now."_

"_But I—"_

"_You're the best I've got under current circumstances." Chuck said condescendingly. "And I need you to find that ring."_

…

_Paul nearly tripped over himself in his eagerness to get in the door._

"_I found it."_

_And Chuck nearly collapsed in relief._

…

"_It's going to cost you a pretty penny," Paul warned. "And that's on top of what you're going to have to pay me."_

"_Money's not an issue," Chuck replied easily. _

"_It could be double what you originally paid," he tried again. "Why don't you just buy another one?"_

"_This is her ring," Chuck told him fiercely. "I don't care if I have to empty my entire bank account."_

"_Your loss," Paul said with a shrug, though his eyes betrayed admiration._

…

"_Here," the oily, greasy, dark haired man tossed a small envelope at him. _

_Taking the envelope warily, Chuck peeked inside. The diamond, his diamond—Blair's diamond—stared back up at him. It glittered, it gleamed, and it reflected a dozen rainbows of hope._

"_Thank you," Chuck said, exhaustion creeping into his voice._

"_Thank you," the man said in response, his thumb sliding over the briefcase. "Business has been a pleasure Mr. Prince."_

…

With a grunt of effort, Chuck pulls himself up from the bar and stumbles into the lobby. The memories of months past swirling in his mind, he knew that Lily's words had been nothing but truth.

_Family_.

"Arthur," he barks into his phone. "Bring the car around at six-thirty."

Shaking his head slightly, as if trying to get rid of the alcohol he had consumed, Chuck steps into the elevator with purposeful ease.

_Family._

…

"You look stunning," Louis says, his words genuine as he twirls Blair in her floor length purple gown and strappy silver Louboutins. With Chuck, the comment would have been followed by a lewd suggestion; with Nate, the comment would have been half-hearted.

"Thank you," Blair trills, though her mind is elsewhere.

"I take it shopping with Serena went well?" Louis inquires innocently. "I missed you."

Smiling slightly, Blair couldn't _help_ but be smitten. No, it wasn't love. She didn't love Louis—not that. But she loved the way he made being together so simple. So pure.

(So _boring_.)

"S does have her uses," Blair remarks and Louis laughs genially, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"The dinner is at seven-thirty, so I expect we'll be out of there by ten at the latest. I booked us a suite…" his voice trails off suggestively, and Blair's smile grew slightly wider.

"I do love the Plaza's room service," she quips.

"So I wasn't being too forward?" Louis questions as they step into the waiting car, the uniformed driver nodding at the well-dressed pair.

"Not at all," Blair replies with a sunny smile that didn't match the way her heart had dropped.

As Louis drapes his arm around her and pulls her closer, Blair couldn't help but allow her mind to travel to Chuck Bass.

_No_ she commands herself silently. She was en route to a dinner at the Embassy with titled royalty and a real-life Prince on her arm. Chuck Bass did not fit into this story. He was merely a footnote.

A footnote she could never forget.

…

"Lily," Chuck greets as he steps from the elevator. "My apologies for being late, I stopped by to pick up some flowers."

Smirking slightly at the look of surprise on their faces, Chuck hands the flowers off to a maid who had a vase at the ready. Sliding into a seat next to Eric and across from Serena, he glances sideways at Lily, her face betraying pleasant surprise.

"I hope you'll…forgive me," Chuck begins amiably, "for missing the past few family dinners."

Lily hears the underlying meaning in his words, even if Serena and Eric did not.

_Family_.

"You'll always be welcome in this family," Lily says warmly. "Though I don't know if you'll enjoy a patented van der Woodsen favorite. Lobster ravioli?"

"Sounds perfect," Chuck says with a smile, a small, rare, smile.

A smile of hope.

* * *

tbc


	4. Chapter 3

**AN: Thank you, as always, to everyone who's reviewed, favorited, alerted, or even just read my story. Your reviews are stunningly inspiring. And a hug to my beta, hand-holder, and twitter-friend, bethaboo, who makes my stories so much better. **

**To the lovely anon, I'd like to remind you that B did "move on for a while" (six months, to be exact!), and that the show and my story are two different entities-here Chuck is not**** "a pathetic excuse for a "changed" man". Or, at the very least, I didn't intend him to be!****

* * *

**

"You're looking…" Eric searches for a word as he takes in Chuck's appearance, and he, for lack of a better word, finally decides on, "better,"

Chuck's hair was cut, a welcome respite after six months, the circles under his eyes had disappeared, and he was cleanly shaven for the first time in weeks.

"It's amazing what a shower and a fitful night's sleep can do for one's appearance," Chuck replies sardonically, but the miniscule smile that plays at the corner of his lips says otherwise. And he had, slept and showered, that is, the past few days more than the past few weeks. His dinner with the van der Woodsens had gone better than anyone had expected—and in the strangest sense, Chuck had begun regarding them as family.

"Serena's already left with Blair," Eric states, and Chuck's stomach clenches ever so slightly. "So we just have to wait for-"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Lily shouts as she hurries down the stairs, affixing a dainty pearl to her ear as Eric and Chuck shared a smirk.

"Purple?" Lily asks Chuck skeptically, his dark grey tux and purple silk bowtie (and matching pocket square) apparently at odds with her delicate sensibilities.

"Purple looks good on me."

Rolling her eyes, Lily motions both snickering boys into the elevator with a shake of her head.

"It's a Christmas dinner," Lily tells him.

"Purple's festive," Chuck argues, and Lily throws him an amused smile.

"I missed Chuck Bass in purple," Eric jumps in, and in an instant the elevator is full of laughter-a delicate chuckle from Lily, a snort from Chuck, and a gleeful laugh from Eric.

Laughter.

…

"Looking for someone?"

Blair jumps ever so slightly as Serena joins her, smoothing down her deep purple silk dress with her sweaty palms.

"Just Louis," Blair replies easily, though she knew exactly where Louis had gone.

"Isn't that him over there?" Serena asks innocently, pointing to the familiar figure in a black tux, talking amicably with an elderly couple. "Who is he talking to?"

"Probably some foreign ambassadors or something," Blair says with a wave of her hand, unable to keep her eyes from sweeping the room once more.

"Chuck's over there," Serena points out, and Blair catches the tail end of her best friend's smirk. Grumbling slightly, she turns in he direction Serena is indicating, immediately drawn to a figure in a dark grey suit and purple bowtie-the same color of her dress.

And as Chuck's eyes catch hers, Blair knows that she's not the only one who had noticed.

"Oh," Serena says brightly. "You guys match! I guess that's the color you were trying to describe to Louis. It's too bad he opted for a black bowtie."

"Black matches perfectly," Blair nearly growls, and brandishes her black clutch at Serena's face. "If he wore the bowtie we'd match _too_ much."

"Well then," Serena tells her with an amused smile, one eye trained on the duo making their way towards them. "I suppose it's a good thing you didn't come here with Chuck then. You guys match perfectly."

"We do," says a deep, silky voice from behind her, and Blair whips around, ferocity in her eyes.

"Bass," she growls, and then turns to Eric with a slightly friendlier smile. "Van der Woodsen."

"Waldorf," he purrs. "You're looking…stunning."

"Thank you," Blair replies stiffly, attempting to shoot Serena a warning glare as the blonde edged away, Eric in tow.

"We match," Chuck tells her with obvious enjoyment.

"I wouldn't put it past you to call Bergdorf's and have them describe the exact color of my dress," Blair shoots back with a sugary sweet smile.

"This is pure coincidence, I assure you. In fact, I'd call this…"

Chuck's words trail off as a warm arm wraps around Blair's waist, and Louis kisses her on the cheek. It is the most adoring gesture Chuck has seen, and it takes all his willpower not to drive his fist into the other man's face.

"I don't think we've been formally introduced," Louis says in his accented English, "Louis Grimaldi," and Chuck winces as he shakes Louis' proffered hand.

"Chuck Bass," he replies with equal smoothness. "I take it you're-"

"Blair's boyfriend, yes." Louis jumps in quickly, though the word _royalty_ lingers in everyone's mind.

"Right," Chuck says tightly, his eyes never leaving Blair's.

"Shall we find my mother?" Blair says to Louis, her voice oddly high-pitched. "I haven't seen her once tonight."

"It was a pleasure meeting you," Louis says to Chuck, not missing the fact that Blair and this man in front of them seemed to be speaking volumes without actually _saying_ anything.

"Likewise," Chuck murmurs, his eyes still trained on Blair's.

Louis could swear he felt the other man's gaze burning into his back as they turned away.

"Who was that?" he asks Blair, a note of apprehension in his voice.

"That was Chuck Bass," Blair says, more to herself than to him, as if those four words explained everything.

…

"Chuck."

"Go away Eric," He grits out, his hand clutching his tumbler with forced purposefulness.

"Don't do this to yourself," Eric warns him, looking pointedly at the half-full glass.

"This is my first glass," Chuck says dismissively. "And it's half empty."

_Half-full_ Eric wants to say, but he cannot voice his opinion when Chuck motions to the bartender once more.

"_No_," Eric tells him. "Come on Chuck, let's get some air."

"But-"

His arguments go unheard as Eric half-drags him towards the balcony doors, though Chuck's eyes remained on the couple that had caught everyone's attention.

"You don't want to do this," Eric tells him firmly, and Chuck has to wonder at how Eric had gleaned all of his wisdom.

"You've seen Blair before," Eric reasons. "Why are you doing this to yourself now?"

Glancing up at Chuck's face, Eric reads the quiet despair and understands in an instant. Because if there was one thing Eric could do, it was read hidden feelings.

"So I take it you finally met Louis. How you managed to avoid him for the past month never ceased to amaze me."

"Staying holed up in your hotel helps," Chuck responds drily.

"What happened?" Eric inquires, and Chuck can't help but admire the young boy's benevolence.

"Reality," Chuck says quietly. At the (expected) look of confusion, Chuck heaves a sigh. He had already said too much to Eric, so what were a few more soul-baring confessions?

"I don't think I really accepted that she'd moved on until it was right in front of me. She's living out her dream, isn't she?"

The wistful note in Chuck's voice was concerning, in the least, and Eric frowns as he takes in Chuck's words.

"Did the Chuck Bass I know die in that alleyway?" Eric asks derisively. "Because Chuck Bass wouldn't let some Prince get in the way-"

"You don't understand," Chuck grits out. "Blair wants nothing more to do with me."

"What was that night in your penthouse?" Eric counters easily, having learned more from Chuck than he let on.

"A mistake," Chuck growls. "She was probably having a momentary lapse of consciousness and decided to take pity on me. Which was why I never wanted her to know in the first place. I don't need her pity."

"No," Eric agrees. "You just need to fight for her."

"I'm done fighting," Chuck tells him in finality. "I tried to fight for her and look where I ended up. With a gunshot wound and a board of angry shareholders."

"I hate to say it," Eric says with a shake of his head. "But you brought that on yourself, Chuck."

"I ruined everything," Chuck agrees, and Eric is gripped once more with the desire to slap the pathetic excuse for Chuck Bass in front of him.

"You didn't ruin _everything_. If Blair's reaction to your disappearance meant anything, she still loves you."

"She's with a _fucking_ Prince," Chuck spits out venomously. "Forgive me if I'm a bit confused as to how she was pining away for me-"

"You know Blair," Eric tells him. "And you know what she does. She hides her pain. Layers it in smiles so people can't tell what she really feels. It's a wonder you two can love each other. You're both so narcissistic, yet utterly masochistic."

_Only a masochist could love such a narcissist._

"We're the same," Chuck says in agreement.

"Yes," Eric agrees in frustration. "You're also both too self-involved and unwilling to accept that you both love each other."

Chuck lets his eyes wander as Eric mutters incomprehensibly about Lords and Princes, betrayals and hotels. He catches purple silk, the exact shade of his bowtie, and smirks slightly.

Because the slim figure in the purple dress had averted her eyes when he caught hers, and it is clear she had been watching their conversation.

His smirk grows as she turns away quickly, and if he were a betting man, he would bet that the faintest of blushes had crept onto her cheeks.

And if he were a betting man, Chuck would bet that the Prince would be gone within the month.

As the Prince leans in, his ears brushing against the shell of Blair's ear, Chuck clenches his fist and his resolve grows.

No. The Prince would be gone within the week.

…

"Don't."

"What?" he asks innocently, looking up at his blonde stepsister, whose eyes are flashing and hand has taken his tumbler of scotch away.

"Don't, Chuck." Serena repeats, attempting a glare. "Blair told me about the guy following Louis around. That's low, Chuck, even for you."

"It's none of your business," he spits out. "What happens between Blair and I, it's none of your business."

"It is when she's my best friend," Serena counters.

"We're inevitable," Chuck tells Serena firmly. "Blair just needs to realize that."

"I won't deny that you two are…inevitable" Serena wrinkles her nose slightly at the thought. "But this is the wrong way of going about this."

"Your Virgin Mary act really is beginning to get tiring," Chuck says airily. "I know what I'm doing, Serena."

"You're making a mistake," Serena warns again, standing up. "Trailing her boyfriend won't get Blair back."

"And here I thought you were beginning to approve of Blair and I."

"I'm not," Serena retorts, but catches herself. "I…I want Blair to be happy."

"Right," Chuck snorts. "And she's happy with the Prince?"

"She was," Serena acquiesces. "Then you showed up."

"Once again, I'm to blame for causing Blair's unhappiness." The comment is meant to be sardonic, but it comes out bleak, causing Serena to raise an eyebrow.

"No," Serena says thoughtfully. "I think she just realized she couldn't love anyone the way she loved you."

The words hang in the air for a moment, and Chuck has to wonder as to when exactly Serena had turned from the airheaded ditz into someone with incredible perception.

"Call off the PI, Chuck," Serena advises, making her way over to the elevator. "You don't need to blackmail Blair into being with you."

Chuck's not really sure as to why he's taking Serena's advice, but regardless, he finds himself calling his PI.

…

"New York is so different than Paris," Louis comments, and his awe at her city has Blair looking at New York through different eyes.

And as much as memories of the city pained her, Blair couldn't help but regard New York as her home. Its busy sidewalks and never-ending skyscrapers as familiar to her as Tiffany's on fifth and brunch at Daniel.

"It truly is your kingdom," Louis says with a smile, and Blair smiles in return.

"Just as Paris is yours," she says genially, though it is clear her mind is elsewhere.

"Yes," Louis hesitates, and Blair turns to him once more. "I will have to go back to Paris sometime soon. In three days, to be exact. For a week, at the very least."

"Royal obligations?" Blair jokes half-heartedly, and Louis pulls her closer.

"You could come with me."

"I don't know," Blair wavers. "I have classes…"

"By all means," Louis smiles down at her. "I won't be longer than a week. We could have dinner on the Eiffel tower, go shopping along-"

"Louis," Blair injects. "New York is my home. I can't leave."

"It's only for a week," Louis pulls back, clearly surprised.

"I know," Blair sighs. "But I don't want to leave."

"Alright," Louis acquiesces.

"But thank you," she says quickly. "For the invitation."

"You're always welcome." Louis says fondly. "Mother is quite taken with you."

Blair laughs, a forced laugh that drew a surprised look from Louis.

"She says it is because of my affection for you," Louis continues with a laugh. "I do wear my heart on my sleeve," Louis says jokingly, and Blair visibly stiffens.

"Something wrong?" he asks her, pausing slightly, a furrow in his brow.

"Nothing," Blair quips, smiling beatifically.

Inside, she is crumbling.

_My heart on your sleeve._

…

Chuck Bass had always believed that he could tell when Blair Waldorf was lying. And when she had claimed to be over him, he had almost believed her.

Almost.

But while he held onto the brief, clinging hope that Blair still loved him, Chuck had despaired, schemed, and plotted over their relationship.

He knew Blair Waldorf would be his again someday, but he hadn't expected it to be anytime _soon_.

So it was to his surprise when he stumbled into his closet for a change of clothes that he found Blair Waldorf rifling through his bowtie drawer. She was fully clothed, and it was that observation that assured him he wasn't hallucinating.

She jumped away from the drawer at the sound of his entrance, the guilty look of a child with their hand in a cookie jar gracing her features.

"Blair?" he croaks. "What are you doing _here_?"

"I-" she stumbles over her words in a very un-Blair-like fashion. He can see the fabric of the scarf peeking out in the back, and in an instant, he understands.

"Your pin," he realizes.

_It was a strange moment of nostalgia that led him to this. His scarf had not been taken from the confines of the drawer in a long time. There had been memories woven into its material, good and bad ones alike, but ultimately, they were simply reminders of who he had been._

_It was folded neatly, the corners straight and matching, a surprise in itself. He supposed a maid-though why they had been in his drawer was beyond him-had tidied the closet._

_As he unfolded the silk, caressing the material between his fingertips, a flash of gold caught his eye. As he looked closer, he noticed something foreign in the material. A tiny gold heart, no bigger than his thumbnail, with a tiny diamond and the initials of its owener._

_Blair's heart pin, he realized._

_She must have pinned it to his scarf in secret, long after Chuck had stopped wearing it-otherwise he would have noticed it. The heart was heavy with the weight of her love, a symbol of her trust and something he had yearned for since seeing it on the sleeve of a Lord._

_She had trusted him enough to grant him her heart-though he had not known of its place on his scarf-and he had destroyed it._

_He took the pin in his hand carefully, watching as the light glinted off the tiny diamond in the middle. The pin had been on the sleeves of two other men-yet she had chosen to put it on his scarf in secret. Gingerly, he attached the inside of the pin to his wallet._

'_I care about three things, Nathaniel. Money, the pleasures money brings me, and you.'_

_Little did he know, there was one person that ranked above all three._

Blair nods mutely. "I want it back."

"I didn't even know you'd given it to me," he tells her, disregarding her demand.

"You knew," she accused. "You may not have known of its physical location, but for all intents and purposes, you knew that I had given you my heart."

He continued to stare at her, his hands fisting at his sides as he watched tears form in her eyes.

"I trusted you," she says, blame leaking into her voice. "I trusted you with it."

"I still love you," he tries, hoping that the three words, eight letters, can fix them again. It had worked, once upon a time, had healed all wounds and overcame all the hurt.

But it was apparent that the words had little meaning to her now as she shakes her head. "I'm done, Chuck. I want my pin back."

_She tiptoed into his closet quietly, ears tuned to the sound of his even breathing. She had her pin in hand, and a plan was half-formed in her mind._

_She did know what she was doing, and why. She knew that he had wanted the pin ever since she had flaunted Marcus in his face. She also knew that he had worked hard to earn it from her. And in every sense, her heart was his from the moment in the limo. The pin was only physical proof-unnecessary, really._

_But a tiny smile graced her lips as she attached it to his scarf. He had not worn it for a while now, and she knew that it was unlikely he would find her pin there._

_Because, she realized, she was still afraid that the old Chuck Bass still lingered beneath the 'I love you-s' and adoring glances. Having her pin attached to his scarf, the representation of his previous years of womanizing and drinking, anchored her to the fact that he had changed. _

_Yet she did it in secret because she was still afraid he would run from love, from her._

"You can't just-"

"I _can_," she says fiercely. "It was mine, and when I gave it to you I trusted you with it. You broke that trust long ago."

"You want it back?" he sneers. "Why? So you can give it to you perfect little Prince and the two of you can skip off into your happily fucking ever?"

"No," she says, tears continuing to collect in her eyes. "I want it back because it's no longer yours."

Her words hit him like a ton of bricks, and the way his heart clenches and tugs makes his gunshot wound seem like a mere paper cut.

"Blair," he tries again "Don't give up on us."

"There is no us," She tells him sadly. "There's nothing-"

"Just tell me what I need to do to fix this," he nearly pleads, "Anything."

He hates himself for how utterly broken, how _desperate_, his voice sounds while he pleads with her, but he can't bring himself to regret it if it brings her back.

"No," she says firmly. "Six months, Chuck. You were gone for _six_ months. I moved on, and you should too."

A voice inside his head is screaming at him to tell her about the ring, but even while searching her eyes desperately for something to orient himself around, his mouth can't form the words.

"If I had come back earlier," he asks quietly. "If I hadn't disappeared for six months, would you have forgiven me?"

"No," she tells him. But he thinks (_hopes_) that there is that note of hesitation in her voice. "I can't do this anymore Chuck."

"Do what?" he asks innocently, but he already knows the answer.

"Play this _game_. You hurt me, and I hurt you back. We both run until we can't run anymore and we end up in the same place we started. I'm done."

She reaches for the scarf then, grasping it as she pulls it from the drawer. He is powerless to stop it as the black box tumbles onto the carpet, opening of its own volition, the ring falling from its confines.

It sits there, in between their feet, innocent in its appearance.

She gasps. "Chuck, is that…"

He breathes in. Out. It takes all his strength just to breathe.

"It's the reason I was shot. It's the reason I probably have a back problem from sleeping in those goddamned motels. It's the reason I was gone for the four-and-a-half months after being released from the hospital."

"I didn't-"

"I know. I didn't want you to know."

"You were shot over a _ring_?" she asks in slight disbelief. It was a ring, easily replaced, unlike a human life.

"Your ring." he reminds her.

"It's not-"

"It is. Even if you don't want to accept it. It's always going to be yours."

She breathes out sharply, a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. "Chuck, I don't know-I'm still-I" It's the second time today she's stumbled over her words, and Chuck wants to smile for still being able to faze the unflappable Blair Waldorf.

He knows what has to happen next.

"You're not giving this to the Prince," he tells her as he removes his wallet.

"I'll give it to whomever I want," she reminds him as she looks at his wallet with distaste. "Chuck, I'm not one of your whores, you can't just pay-"

But he removes the golden pin with the tiny diamond and the initials _BW_ engraved on the back from the folds of aged leather.

"You're not giving this to the Prince," he tells her firmly. "Because I'm going to get it back. It's only a matter of time."

She scoffs, but she doesn't refute his statement. He smirks as he continues.

"It's always going to be mine," he tells her. "Just like that ring is always going to be yours."

"I haven't forgiven you," she says. But the fact that she hasn't contradicted his statement proves that she will.

It's only a matter of time.

Their fingers brush together as he hands her the pin, the heat from her fingertips setting his skin aflame.

"I'll see you around, Bass." She says quietly, sidestepping him as she makes her way to the elevator.

He doesn't miss the way her eyes linger on the box at his feet.

…

There is no pounding headache, no dry mouth and roiling stomach.

That is Chuck Bass' first clue that things are different this morning

And as the previous night comes rushing back to him, his thoughts wander towards the little black box that now resides on his nightstand.

The tiniest of smiles graces his lips as he gets out of bed, no rush of vertigo or spinning room to greet him.

It was a good morning, Chuck decides as he picks up his Blackberry and dials a familiar number.

"Lily," he greets. "What do you say to brunch this morning?"

* * *

tbc


	5. Chapter 4

**AN: Thank you all for your continued support. May I be allowed a moment of self-indulgence and say that this story has reached over sixty alerts? Of small consequence in comparison to other authors, but a first for me, and I am so thankful to everyone who has been reading this story. As well, Recollection had a record amount of reviews the last chapter, and as a thank you, I'll be updating two chapters, with a day in between to give people a chance to read. Ch. 5 will be posted tomorrow. **

**Much love to my beta, bethaboo.**

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"I can't say that I was expecting your call," Lily tells him over eggs benedict and freshly squeezed orange juice.

"Where are Serena and Eric?" Chuck asks instead, avoiding the question entirely.

"Eric's with Dan, and Serena's with Nate. They've been spending a lot of time together," Lily muses, and she looks thoughtful as she sips her coffee.

"They no longer have the capacity to surprise me," Chuck says sardonically, eliciting the smallest of laughs from Lily.

Another moment of silence passes, and Lily breaks it once more.

"You called me for a reason," she reminds him.

"I wanted to have brunch with my stepmother," Chuck counters innocently, and both can hear the slight quaver at the word _mother_, despite the prefix.

Refraining from rolling her eyes, Lily leans forward conspiratorially. "Would this have anything to do with Blair?"

The grip around his fork tightens, and Lily draws back slightly at the look of apprehension in his eyes.

"No," Chuck decides, though they both know his answer is a lie. "This is about Bass Industries."

….

"I don't know Serena," Nate says thoughtfully, winding a strand of her hair between her fingertips. "Interfering in Chuck and Blair's relationship has never been a good thing."

"That's just it," Serena tells him, flipping onto her stomach to look him in the eye. "They don't have a relationship."

"Even when they're apart, they're together," Nate says with a roll of his eyes.

Propping herself up on her elbows, Serena raised an eyebrow at him. "Nate Archibald, when did you get so philosophical?"

"Since when could you say philosophical?"

…

"She's with Nate."

"You know Serena," Erik says with a roll of his eyes.

"I do," Dan muses. "But I haven't known her since childhood."

"I've known her since I was born," Erik reminds him. "And I still haven't figured her out."

"I don't think anyone can," Dan says thoughtfully, and Erik wants to throw a pillow at the boy's head.

"You've been moaning about Serena and Nate the whole summer," Erik snaps slightly, but his tone is, as always, mild. "Apparently that's carried over into fall. And winter. Are you going to do anything about it?"

"What _can_ I do about it?" Dan asks dubiously. "It's Serena's choice, not mine."

"For starters, you can tell her how you feel."

…

"Bass Industries?" Lily raises a delicate eyebrow as she spears an asparagus.

"My father's company," Chuck reminds her. "His legacy."

"I understand your…determination," Lily starts. "But it isn't that simple."

"You have a controlling share in the company," Chuck reminds her. "And I would be willing to pay whatever price-"

"This isn't about the money," Lily says with a shake of her head. "You can have the shares if you'd like. They were always yours."

"Then?" Chuck prompts.

A beat of silence passes, Lily studiously avoiding his gaze and cutting her asparagus into minute slices.

"I know what you did to get the Empire back," Lily admits.

"You don't trust me," his eyes darken slightly. "It was a mistake-"

Lily holds up a hand, halting his words. "From what I know, it was. But that doesn't change what you did, Chuck."

Her eyes softened as her eyes raked over Chuck's expression. "I do trust you Chuck. But the board won't. After the fiasco with the Empire, you mysteriously getting it back, and your disappearance, I doubt anyone would welcome you with open arms."

"They won't have a say," Chuck spits out angrily. "It's my father's company."

"It _was_ your father's company," Lily corrects. "And it was yours too-but you gave that up."

"I was trying to make it on my own," Chuck admits. "Look how well that went."

"I won't pretend to agree with your decisions," Lily begins.

"It was a mistake," he nearly pleads. "I didn't want-I couldn't-"

"You love that hotel," Lily tells him. "But don't you love Blair more?"

The words are like a punch to his gut, and it's all he can do to not collapse in pain.

"I do," he says quietly.

"Then it was the wrong decision," Lily tells him. "But we all make mistakes in life Chuck. The question is, what will we do with those mistakes?"

"I'm not running anymore," Chuck says in determination. "Those six months. It was important. I wasn't running."

"I know, Chuck," Lily says with a small smile. "But I don't think Blair does."

She watches his expression fall slightly, and her heart goes out to this boy in front of her.

"Show her," Lily suggests. "Show Blair what she means to you."

_I'm going to get it back. It's only a matter of time._

"And Bass Industries?" he prompts, and Lily knows that his silence was a sign of acceptance.

"There's a board meeting tomorrow," Lily says decisively. "You may accompany me. But I make no guarantees."

The relief that washes over his face is palpable in the air, and Lily smiles slightly.

"Thank you," Chuck says, and his voice quavers enough to tell Lily that the words do not come easily to him. "Thank you Lily."

"It's just a meeting," Lily reminds him gently, though they both know that he is not referring to the meeting.

"Thank you," he repeats quietly. "For everything."

"You're family," Lily says simply.

It's the first time he truly believes her.

…

"…and the past six months have been amazing, but-"

"Blair," Louis interrupts her. "I'll only be gone for a week."

Blair frowns slightly, knowing her point isn't getting across, but still unsure in her actions.

"You're breaking up with me," Philippe says in realization, and Blair relinquishes her control of the situation and nods sadly.

"It's him, isn't it?" Louis' voice holds no anger, only understanding. "That Bass boy, who came back."

Blair can only nod once more.

Louis studies her face closely. "You love him."

It is a statement, not a question.

Blair doesn't nod this time, not because it isn't true, but because she couldn't admit it to herself if she wanted to.

"Well,"Louis' eyes were sad now, a hint of regret in his voice. "I hope you get that fairytale ending you told me about. Goodbye, Blair."

"Bye," she whispered as he gave her one last smile.

She didn't tell him that she had let go of her fairytale a long time ago. He was only a passing reminder.

…

"Are you sure you're ready for this?"

Lily stands with her back to him, staring out the window as he straightens the files in hand, an expression of grim determination playing out across his face.

"It's only been a month since you got back, are you sure you aren't-"

"I'm ready."

Lily turns around; to the stepson who only recently had begun to think of himself as family. He stood stoically, hands clasped and shoulders rigid. Beneath his bravado, Lily could still sense the little boy who still yearned for his father's approval.

"The Empire?" she prompts, knowing the answer.

"Will be incorporated into Bass Industries. I'm handing it over to the company. I don't want it anymore, but-"

"It was your first hotel," she says with a small smile. "I wouldn't want to lose it either."

Chuck nods, unable to form the words that caught in his throat.

"I'm proud of you," Lily says, almost offhandedly.

She catches the end of his astonished expression, before he quickly replaces it with a cool smile.

"Thank you, Lily. I-"

There is vulnerability in his voice, in his eyes, again. Lily smiles patiently, knowing that what he had to say would be forever cherished in her heart.

"I want to thank you." He says, his voice oddly formal. "For not giving up on me." he clarifies.

"You're my son," Lily reminds him. "Even if we're not related by blood, I'll always think of you as my son."

She studies him closely as he broke out in a small smile.

"You're a good person. Even if you have been spending the past few weeks holed up in your hotel with a bottle of scotch."

Lily frowns momentarily. "But Charles, you still haven't told me where you've been the past six months. But-" she holds up a slim hand as he opens his mouth to interrupt. "I know you'll tell me when you're ready."

A minute passes as Lily shuffles around papers on her desk, and Chuck contemplates his next words.

"Where do I start?" he asks wryly, and Lily's smile grows slightly. She understands what this meant to him, understands the importance of him opening up to her.

"Why you were shot would be a good place," she says with the tiniest hint of an accusation.

"They tried to take the ring from me," Chuck explains bluntly, his eyes glazing over slightly as he recalls the night in the alley. "I resisted, they fired."

Lily nods at his explanation, knowing that the detachment in his voice isn't necessarily directed at her.

"The ring?" she prompts.

"Blair's ring," he admits sheepishly, and Lily can't tell if it's a trick of the light or if a blush is spreading across her stepson's cheeks.

"You bought a ring for Blair?"

He nods.

"That's why you disappeared." Lily states, and Chuck has to commend her for being so incredibly insightful.

"It took me four and a half months, a few PIs, and another few thousand." He says nonchalantly, but underneath it Lily knows that he would do it all over again.

"Why didn't you call?" Lily asks. "Six months without a word-"

"I became so…fixated on finding the ring, nothing else mattered."

"A simple call would've sufficed," Lily says, and though the accusation is clear, there is gentleness in her voice.

"It was easier this way," Chuck says adamantly.

"Easier?" Lily's never been one to let things go.

"To find the ring first, and not have to deal with everything. The mess I created. The people I hurt. I didn't want to come back…"

"But you came back," Lily assures him. "You didn't run away."

"I had to," Chuck says simply. "Otherwise I never would've gotten a chance to fix this."

"Was it worth it?" she asks, already knowing the answer.

The fierceness of his love for Blair is alarming in the least. The way the two are seemingly interconnected, even while apart, and completely entwined in each other's existence, is baffling. She had believed in true love, believed that she had found hers in Rufus. But watching Chuck and Blair only made her realize how her and Rufus' love paled in comparison. It was an intangible bond that made them seem inevitable, their other relationships merely passing fancies.

"Of course," he tells her.

As if it were preposterous to think otherwise.

…

Blair watches the private airfield disappear through a haze of tears, but she knows that she is not mourning a loss.

In fact, Blair's not really sure why she's crying. It could be that the barrage of emotions she had housed for the past months were finally letting loose; the floodgates unlocking and allowing her to finally _feel_.

Because the past few months, all she had felt was numbness.

Blair can split her life into two; pre-Chuck and after Chuck. Moving amongst a sea of propriety and society manners, Blair's life had been as dull and grey as her relationship with Nate.

But, you see, when one is used to such numbness, their life shrouded in grey, they hardly notice that their life _is_ grey.

And Chuck was a spot of color.

A vibrant explosion of colors that burst beneath her eyelids when she lay below him, her skin sticky with sweat and his scent curling around her nose.

Once he had entered her life, bringing _color,_ along with him, Blair knew that there was no going back.

The bleak, desolate lifestyle she had wholeheartedly embraced prior now seemed as last-season as harem pants and gladiator sandals.

And those months could be summarized into pasted society smiles, false grins, secretive calls to unsuccessful PIs, and the following tears.

Blair had told herself she wouldn't allow Chuck Bass to rule her life, gone or not. Yet he had appeared in her mind at the least opportunistic moments, and worry had been so intricately woven into heart that she couldn't help but _worry_.

And worry she had. Blair had met with countless PIs in back alleys and dusty bars alike, keeping her concern under wraps as she crumbled away inside.

Six months. With nary a word.

There had been one occasion, in which her current PI had rushed at her, a sheaf of papers in his hand as he smirked lewdly.

The Chuck he had found had not been Chuck Bass in the end, but for a moment, for a simple, pure, moment, Blair found herself _happy_ for the first time in months.

He was safe, _alive_.

It had all come crashing down when the Chuck had, in fact, been a completely different Chuck in every way. Blair had wasted no time in firing the PI, her hands shaking with anger.

That night had been the most hopeless.

And even in the hopelessness, Blair managed to find strength. Strength to smile through her pain, to wear a façade that hid her emotions, and strength to ignore the devastating thoughts in the back of her mind.

Louis had been a welcome distraction, had eased her worries if only for a short time, and had made her feel somewhat whole again.

But nothing she felt with him had compared to the relief she felt at Serena's phone call.

"_He's coming home," Serena sighed happily. There was a pause, "B? You there?" _

"_Who?" Blair feigned disinterest, but a new light had awoken inside her. _

"_B," Serena chastised lightly. "Chuck! Chuck's coming home."_

"_I could really care less," Blair sniffed. "Does this mean you won't be joining Louis and I for lunch tomorrow?"_

"_No," Serena said slowly, as if trying to comprehend Blair's words. "We're going to the airport to meet him. Wouldn't you like to—"_

"_No thank you," Blair said haughtily. "I've got better things to do with my time than greet someone who's been gone for six months without a single phone call. Now, what do you think I should wear tonight?"_

_Serena sighed, "B he must have—"_

"_I'm not talking about this," Blair said through gritted teeth. "The green and white Marchesa or the black Jaeger?"_

"_The Marchesa," Serena relented with a sigh, sitting back amongst her pillows as Blair described the various pairs of shoes she had chosen to go along with a dress that Chuck had bought for her._

Her contrived indifference had almost broken, and Blair knew that if Serena had been physically present that day, she would have seen. She would have seen the smile of joy that broke across her face uninhibited. She would have heard the way Blair had stumbled slightly over her words, before collecting herself to reply to Serena.

But as it was, Blair was too good at hiding her feelings for even her best friend to notice.

…

"Dan. Hi."

"Hi," he returns, stuffing his hands in his pocket.

"What are you doing here?" Serena keeps glancing towards the bedroom nervously, and from her current state of dress, Dan can garner that—

"Eric told me where you were," Dan clears his throat. This was clearly not one of his better ideas. "I wanted to—"

"Yes?" Serena's twisting her hands, looking at him with apprehension, and, could it be? Hope.

The moment is ruined when a just-showered and half-naked Nate Archibald walks out, looking from Dan to Serena in surprise.

"Well," Dan says, having the decency to look slightly ashamed. "This is clearly uncomfortable for all of us. I'm going to leave."

Nate looks at him quizzically, and Serena throws him a desperate look he can't quite comprehend.

But as he steps into the elevator, he leans his forehead against the glass and makes a decision.

He wasn't going to try.

….

"Unlike Serena, you didn't get into Columbia based on your looks," Blair says through gritted teeth, clutching her pencil and digging her blood red fingernails into her palm.

Schoolwork had always come easy to Blair, and she had always been the one to edify the other three during their impromptu study sessions. Which, more often than not, culminated in nights at PJ Clarke's or Chuck proclaiming the current subject "tedious and unnecessary", and procuring a bottle of alcohol.

But now, the letters rearrange themselves in front of her tired eyes, the numbers jumbling together and enmeshing into a flurry of white paper and black text.

Blair found herself unable to concentrate on the current task at hand and, as it had for the past week, her mind kept travelling to a little black box and its contents.

Blair didn't know why she was so surprised. She _had_ been outside that hospital after all, had heard the beginning of a sentence she had always longed to hear.

Not matter what events transpired after, the hurt that had eclipsed the love, Blair could never forget the tiny black box he held in his hands, nor the almost boyish look of excitement and nervousness on his face.

And she had finally seen it up close, all six-and-a-half carats of a diamond set on a platinum band and sparkling in the dull light of his closet.

Six months, she had missed him, despite the fact she hadn't wanted to. All while he was trekking around Europe with a gunshot wound in his stomach and a determination to find the ring. She doesn't dare call it hers. Not yet.

Blair knows that Chuck had never taken kindly to losing. Nor had he ever given up, once he set his mind on something.

He would pursue it till he got it. Because Chuck Bass always got what he wanted.

It thrills her slightly to realize that she was a prime example of that.

Could it be, Blair muses, setting down her pencil and reaching for her phone, that maybe…just maybe…there was a chance those six months could be forgiven.

Chuck had been looking for her ring after all.

Because it always was her ring, even if she didn't want to accept it.

Chuck had said as much.


	6. Chapter 5

**AN: I always feel compelled to maintain the illusion of realism in my stories, therefore, all the presents do exist (and I had a damn good time shopping for them in NY!). Thanks for your amazing reviews, I'll respond to them in a bit. Apologies for the lack of teasers for this chapter-I figured since I was posting it the next day a teaser was a bit silly. Thanks to bethaboo. And thanks to SaturnineSunshine, aka my partner in CB-awesome-fics, who noticed the Philippe/Louis mix-up in the last chapter (Philippe was Louis before I knew Louis' name, if that makes any sense!). Mistake has been fixed, hope I didn't confuse anyone!

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Chuck has never been indecisive. It simply isn't in his nature.

Whether he is faced with a decision on whether to open that new hotel in Boston, or which department to hire, he has always gone with his gut feeling and never looked back.

But standing in front of a glass case full of diamonds and rubies, aquamarine set in sterling silver, Chuck grew both indecisive and frustrated.

Even the usual tranquility of Tiffany's has been accosted by the impending holidays, the store abuzz with chatter and obvious glee. With less than two weeks to Christmas, Chuck knows that his time was running out.

Serena, Lily, Eric, and even the Humphreys (though he has his assistant shop for them) had been bought for, and Chuck knows there was only one person left. And the perfect gift, apparently, still eluded him.

"Mr. Bass," Marcella says with a bright smile, "If I may recommend the snowflake pendant in platinum…"

Chuck frowns as his—and Blair's—usual assistant drones on, her high-pitched voice grating at his nerves as she proclaimed the exalted charms of the delicate pendant.

It is acceptable, he supposes, peering closely at the carefully arranged diamonds, perfectly cut and glittering in the light.

But it isn't right.

Nothing was, he has to admit, and Chuck is loath to show up to the Van der Woodsen's Christmas dinner—a dinner Blair would be attending—without the perfect gift.

It seems, however, that Tiffany's had failed him in that respect, and Chuck exits the illustrious glass doors soon thereafter, dissatisfaction etched in his features.

He has already visited Van Cleef & Arpels and de Beers, leaving both shops with an expression of discontent.

It was easier, he muses, when Blair had chosen a selection of items for him, leaving him to pursue them and, most likely, pick out the most expensive pieces. Blair had always had a hand in choosing her gift, and almost always knew what she would receive before she actually received it.

Like the Erickson Beamon necklace, he recalls with the slightest of smirks, remembering that night, a night that seemed so long ago, with perfect ease.

The thought comes to him in an instant; and his phone was by his ear in the next moment.

"Carla? Could you connect me to Erickson Beamon's London offices."

He leans back as the limo begins to move through sluggish traffic, and a pleasantly familiar voice answers within minutes.

"Maria? It's Chuck Bass. I need a favor."

…

"S," Blair laments, trudging after her best friend in a manner that did not befit Blair Waldorf. It _did_, however, befit someone who had been Christmas shopping with her dithering blonde of a best friend for six hours. In three inch heels, no less.

"Sorry!" Serena says apologetically, still browsing through the accessories section of Bergdorf's. "What do you think says we're-not-dating-but-we're-sort-of-together?"

"Are you referring to Nate or Humphrey?" Blair asks with an annoyed glance at the ties in Serena's hands.

"Nate," Serena says, as though it was obvious. "Dan and I—"

"So after a summer sleeping with every other guy we met in France," Serena shoots her a frown, but Blair continues on merrily, "you came back to 'talk' to Dan, then somehow ended up sleeping with Nate after that Columbia party, and _then_ you and Nate decided being in a relationship was too difficult and embarked on the most awkward of friends-with-benefits relationships. Oh, and you did this all while avoiding Dan."

Serena colors, her cheeks the same shade of red as the tie in her left hand, "Not exactly…"

Blair shakes her head, "That's exactly what happened, S."

"Dan came by the other day," Serena blurts out, setting the ties down and looking to her best friend with wide eyes. "Eric told him I was at the Empire, and he—"

Rolling her eyes, Blair makes her way over to another display, dragging Serena along with her. "S, I do not need to hear exactly what you and Nate were doing before Dan walked in, but what did he say?"

"Nothing, really. Nate walked out of the shower while we were talking, and Dan bolted."

"What did you _want_ him to say?" Blair inquires, switching tact with ease.

Serena shrugs, "Nothing, really. He left without saying much."

"Dan, speechless?" Blair comments in disbelief. "Whatever happened to the I-ramble-when-I'm-nervous-and-don't-shut-up Dan Humphrey who still plays with Cedric?"

Biting back a laugh, Serena shrugs once more, turning to the display of watches in front of her. "You just managed to insult Dan in nearly every way possible in one sentence," she points out, and Blair only shoots her a smirk of triumph, "Maybe it's easier this way," she muses.

"What way?" Blair huffs, "The avoiding Dan way?"

"I'm not _avoiding_ him, per se."

"You've hardly seen him, skipped out on almost every family dinner," Blair frowns momentarily, sidetracked by a wayward thought, "although, if my mother were married to Rufus Humphrey, I'd skip them too."

"He was my first true love," Serena says laconically, running the edge of her polished fingernail along the glass case. "It's hard to see him as your step-brother after that."

"I thought Nate was your first true love," Blair reproaches teasingly, the barest hint of bitterness laced through her voice. "Nevertheless, you and Humphrey are long over, and as I've said before, the only thing worse than dating a Humphrey is mourning a Humphrey."

"I suppose so," Serena relents, though she remains unconvinced as she lets her eyes skim over the expanse of glass, spotting a display of cufflinks.

"Speaking of stepbrothers," Serena comments slyly, glancing Blair's way just in time to catch the slight blush that crept up Blair's cheeks, "What are you getting for Chuck?"

Blair frowns inwardly, as Serena has brought up the very topic she did not wish to discuss. She has been debating over whether she should even be getting him a gift, but the useless argument had been quickly dispelled when she realized they had always gotten each other gifts, no matter the state of their relationship. From there, she had agonized what exactly _to_ get him, knowing that whatever gift she chose had the capacity to chart the course of their inevitable reunion.

Because in the past few days, no matter how she tried to cleanse herself of the image of a diamond ring, cushion cut and set on a polished platinum band, and its velvet black box.

"What are _you_ getting Chuck for Christmas?" Blair volleys back, effectively avoiding the question.

"A tie, I suppose," Serena responds breezily, eying the silver cufflinks in front of her, "Do you think I should get Nate a pair of dog bone cufflinks?"

Blair raises her eyebrows, and Serena hurries to explain, "You know. Because he's got that whole puppy-dog-smile thing."

"And how you translated Nate's puppy dog smile into dog bone cufflinks, I will never understand." Blair shudders delicately, dragging Serena away from the display. "If you want to get Nate cufflinks, why not get him those sailboat ones we saw at Saks?"

"The David Yurman ones?" Serena questions.

Blair nods, "And you know how in love Nate is with those model sailboats he's had since he was six. Sailboat cufflinks, S."

"Alright," Serena yields, but the relief in her eyes is clear.

"Do we still have to find something for Cabbage Patch?" Blair asks, though she is already leading them towards the exit. "I'd much rather go home and sip mint tea with my mother than sift through outfits for Cedric. Though his current one _is_ dismal. Would it _kill_ Dan to buy him some Prada?"

"I don't think they sell Prada for dolls," Serena comments with a laugh. "And I've already bought Dan's present."

"Without my help?" Blair asks in mock surprise, and Serena shoots her a faux-exasperation. "What did you get Cabbage Patch, anyways? Tortured writer inkwell cufflinks?"

"I don't think those exist either, B." Serena says with a laugh, hurrying her steps as they step out into the frigid New York air. The dark, threatening sky and glacial temperatures are enough for both girls to hug their cashmere and wool coats tighter and hasten towards the waiting car, the previous conversation forgotten.

…

"Rufus!" Lily exclaims, rushing from the elevator, bags in hand, and towards a melancholy Rufus, coffee in hand as he sat on the couch. "How as Hudson?"

"Hey, Lil," he replies, standing and enveloping her in his arms, "Hudson was fine."

"Oh," Lily knows as well as anyone that Rufus' laconic, terse sentences signify that Hudson was anything but fine. "Did you see Jenny?" she asks gently.

"She's still refusing to see me," Rufus sighs in defeat, collapsing down on the couch once more. "The last time I saw her in person was August, and now she won't come out of her room to see me. She hardly answers my calls, and when she does deign to call, they are brief; I don't even know my own daughter anymore. I stayed for eight days, Lil. Went to Alison's every morning, until she would force me out in the afternoons. I don't know where I went wrong."

"It's not your fault," Lily begins adamantly. "Jenny knew what she was doing, and you are at fault for none of this. Sending her to Hudson was the best thing you could've done."

"I never meant to send her away indefinitely," Rufus admits, still looking at his hands. "And I never meant to push her away."

"She's still young," Lily says with a sad smile, "she'll come around eventually, you just need to back away for a bit. Let her grow, learn on her own."

"I did just that," Rufus comments wryly, "And look where that got us."

"Jenny's still young," Lily repeats, "she's got her whole life ahead of her to make amends for what she's done here, and to change."

"I hope you're right," Rufus concedes, taking her hand in his. "I hope you're right, Lily."

…

"Is that for Chuck?" Eric asks, stepping carefully into Serena's room, which was rife with brightly colored wrapping paper and various articles of clothing. It appeared that she was trying her hand at wrapping presents again, even after her many failed attempts of years past.

"What gave it away?" Serena jokes with a laugh, holding the purple and navy paisley tie in front of her.

"Chuck Bass is the only one we know who wears paisley," Eric points out, joining Serena on the floor of her room, "not to mention, purple is his favorite color."

Serena laughs once more, setting the tie beside her, her frustration forgotten at the sight of her brother.

"So how are the Christmas preparations coming along?" Serena inquires absentmindedly, attempting to consolidate the mess she had created. "It's the first time Mom's held Christmas dinner of this magnitude in a while."

"And that's probably shone through in her over-planning of the event," Eric replies. "She held up the elevator of our building for three hours yesterday, trying to get the tree into the apartment."

"Did she succeed? Or is it Christmas of '97 all over again, and we're to have only half a tree?"

Eric smiles nostalgically, though the memory was faded around the edges, as he had been younger then, his sandy blonde hair long because he refused to cut it, his father still at home.

"Dad tried to buy the biggest tree he could find," he recalls, the pronoun foreign at his lips, "and when he couldn't get it up the elevator—"

"He had the doorman bring a saw, and they cut it in the middle of the lobby," Serena finishes, her eyes slightly glazed over at the memory.

"Yeah, then the next year, Mom was too busy with Klaus in St. Barths to remember that she _had_ children," Eric deadpans.

"Well," Serena says with a hopeful smile, "We've got a rather large family by Upper East Side standards this year, so I doubt any of us will be lonely come Christmas Day."

"Chuck, the Humphreys, sans Jenny, of course, and the Van der Woodsens? Sounds almost as bad as that Christmas Bart proposed to Mom."

"And the presents?" Serena cries, breaking out in laughter once more, though Bart's name hung in the air between them.

"He had good intentions," Eric recalls.

Serena nods, and a moment of silence passes between the two, a small tribute to Bart's memory.

"You know," Serena begins tentatively, now realizing that the date had slipped her mind entirely, "the anniversary of Bart's…death is coming up."

"Yeah," Eric states, his eyes trained on the abandoned paisley tie.

"Chuck—"

"He'll be alright," Eric jumps in quickly.

Serena smiles and nods, looking towards the white door that joined her room to the bathroom, and by connection, to Blair's.

Chuck would be alright.

…

It was the morning of the board meeting, the one where Lily was to announce their plan to reinstate him as head of Bass Industries, and yet, when the alarm woke him, another feeling was coursing through his veins.

The apprehension and nervousness over the board's reaction to his return as CEO was nothing compared to the dread in his stomach as he realizes today's date.

The last month had been a flurry of activity, for he had been occupied with forgetting—and destroying his liver—at first, then came the determination to break up the Prince and Blair, and finally, his attempt to catch up on the portfolio and intricacies of Bass Industries.

He had been so involved with everything else, Chuck Bass became just a little less _self_-involved. Not to say that it was a terrible thing, as his tendency for self-destruction seemed to have waned.

But the date on the calendar tells him his rather nasty habit of pushing everyone away and going down another path of self-destruction was imminent in its return.

…

"No, I'll be with the Van der Woodsens for Christmas," Blair assures her mother, pacing her room once more. If this continued, she was going to wear her way through the plush beige carpeting within the next week.

A small, neat stack of Tiffany-hued boxes and pristine white ribbons sits on her vanity, alongside black boxes and gold ones, and Blair goes over her mental Christmas checklist once more, coming to the same conclusion.

There was only one person left to buy a present for, and she was still at a loss.

"Yes, I'm sure," Blair placates, "Really, mother, I'll be fine. I'll be sending your presents and Daddy's out tomorrow, they should arrive before Christmas."

A de Beers necklace for her mother, Ferragamo tie for Cyrus, David Yurman cufflinks for her father, and Chavret pocket squares for Roman. Blair knew that each gift was perfected to its receiver, as she had always excelled in giving gifts, knowing exactly what each person would love, and never overstepping the boundaries of extravagance.

"They invited me," Blair defends, still fingering the bow on the box containing Serena's present, "whatever residual dislike there is between the Humphreys and I is mutual. I've not once regretted my actions, and we've come to an understanding."

Blair recalls a conversation, just before her twentieth birthday, where she and Dan had come to a mutual understanding, agreeing to be somewhat civil.

As civil as Blair Waldorf could be with someone who still lived in Brooklyn.

The recollection of her twentieth birthday brings back memories of a dozen roses and delicate pearl bracelet, both of which she had believed to be from Louis. But when he had presented her with a diamond pendant, Blair had stormed up to her room and attempted to throw the card-less bouquet into the trash.

But something had stopped her, and the roses had sat on her vanity till they were wilting, their resplendence dimmed.

"I'll call you soon," Blair promises, effectively cutting off her mother's ramble about the importance of family during Christmas, "Say hello to Cyrus for me."

The trip to France was not a difficult one, and even so, Blair had invented numerous excuses to stay in New York for the holidays. Her father had pled with her, but even her half-hearted excuses were enough to convince them to allow her to stay. Blair isn't quite sure what exactly her reasons for staying _are_.

Something tells her it has to do with diamond rings and little black boxes, but she pushes the thought from her mind and continues wrapping the monogrammed Tiffany rattle and miniature, stretchy bowed headband.

…

"Have you seen Chuck?" Lily's voice is frantic, even through the speakers on Serena's phone, and Serena shakes her head no, only to remember that Lily cannot see her.

"No, I thought he was with you at the board meeting today?" Though she had discussed the date with Eric, it is only at this moment that Serena remembers the date.

"He was," Lily admits, "he was cordial and sat through the entire meeting with hardly a word. I forgot, Serena. If I had known…"

"This isn't your fault," Serena reminds her mother, "we were all so wrapped up in our own worlds, that we completely forgot."

"Even so," Lily laments, "being at Bass Industries, hearing talk about how the company is suffering, and on the anniversary of his father's death. I remembered, right before the meeting, but it was too late. I tried to coerce him into coming over for dinner, but he left almost immediately after."

"I'm sure he's fine," Serena placates gently, though she is as worried as Lily, "he just needs to be by himself."

"Being by himself hasn't always led to the best of situations."

"I'll find him," Serena promises, after a moment's silence. But she looks towards the connecting door, knowing that it was not her who could find Chuck, but someone else.

…

He was exactly where she thought he would be.

Bart's grave was impressive, formidable, an exact representation of who he had been. The dark granite stone sat in the family plot, the moonlight glinting off the silver letters.

Blair had been here exactly three times before. The first, for Bart's funeral, where Chuck had been drunk, disorderly, and broken. The second, on the first anniversary of Bart's death, the scene much like the one unfolding in front of her. It had been after they said goodbye to Serena at the hospital, and she had laid her head on Chuck's shoulder, told Arthur to take a detour.

On the second visit to Bart's grave, Chuck had stood in front of the marker; fingers intertwined with hers, and had said nothing.

Blair did not prompt him to, knew that whatever Chuck had wanted to say would be said in due time.

_Not everyone's going to wait seventeen years for an I love you_.

The third time, was when she had trailed his limo, stood a ways away, and watched as Chuck conversed with the empty air. He spoke angrily at first, about deception and betrayal, but over the course of talking about his mother, his voice had softened, and if she were not so far away, Blair would've sworn she saw Chuck Bass shed a tear.

Why Lily had not thought to visit Bart's grave earlier, Blair doesn't know. Perhaps, she thinks, Lily hadn't visited Bart's grave since the funeral, the thought of her deceased ex-husband too great to bear.

As it was, she is shivering faintly, her wool coat barely dulling the chilling wind, and her black Prada heels sinking slightly into the ground.

He is not in front of the grave, but sitting under an impressively sized tree, his black coat blending in with the dark of the roots, a bottle visible in his hands.

The frost crunches under the toe of her boots, and he turns his head, met her eyes.

Not a word passes between them as she makes her way over, sits beside him and takes the half-empty bottle from his hands.

He must have been sitting here for hours, she muses, as he lifts his arm around her shoulders, and she leans ever so gently into him.

Their breath is visible in the wintry air, their noses and cheeks red from the cold, and Blair counts the seconds by the heartbeat against her cheek.

She shivers involuntarily, and he looks down at her questioningly, as if he had forgotten she was there.

Instead, he stands up, a wordless question in his eyes as he offers her his gloved hand.

There is no hesitation as she takes his hand, and they make their way to a waiting car, their fingers intertwined.

…

"The Empire," she tells the driver, and Chuck looks at her in surprise. She had been there once, of course, but he knew the hotel still drew a point of contention between them.

But as she helps him out of the car, up the elevator, and into the suite he once dared call theirs, Chuck knows that she is doing this for him.

"Serena's at my place," she says by way of explanation.

"Stay," he tells her, the first word he's spoken to her all night.

She nods as if she would have anyways.

…

One would think it would be awkward; to slip into bed with someone you had sworn to hate, someone who had hurt you beyond your wildest imaginations.

But they had always been Blair and Chuck, Chuck and Blair, and lying next to him his arm around her waist, her legs thrown over his, Blair finds herself, for the first time in months, comfortable.

Her eyes start to close, and she is nearing sleep when she hears the quiet whisper, so quiet she believes it to be a figment of her imagination.

"I'm sorry."

Her eyes snap open, and for a moment, Chuck looks surprised, as if those words were never meant for her to hear.

"For what?" she whispers back, though they both know the exactly what he is apologizing for.

"Everything," he admits sheepishly, "the hotel, Jenny, disappearing…"

He trails off as Blair tenses, his arm drawing her closer to him as she recalls the hurt that had transpired.

"I was thinking, at my father's grave today," his voice is sardonic, and as close as she is, Blair can smell the faint, lingering scent of his favorite scotch, "about how he was right."

Blair holds her breath, waits for him to continue, "I'm becoming my father. It doesn't matter which way you spin it, but I sold you out for a hotel. It's exactly what he would have done."

The silence encompasses them, and Blair swallows the accusatory words at the tip of her tongue, replaces them with what she knows she has to say, "You're not your father."

"You can't justify what I did, Blair."

"I know," she agrees, "but somehow, I've forgiven you for it."

"I really am sorry," he whispers, and the words recall a different night, a different apology for a betrayal of lesser magnitude. "I believed we could get over it. We could put it past us, and move on. I thought I would be weak if I chose you over the hotel, that everything my father said about love would have been true if I had chosen you."

"I think," he muses out loud, and Blair remains silent, "that either way, my father would have found a way to disparage me. If I had chosen you, I would be weak. The hotel, I would be heartless. I never said I would change—"

"I never asked you to change," Blair corrects, "I never asked you to change, not once."

"But I _did_ change," he argues, "And even if it was unintentional, it happened."

Blair nods slowly, "I didn't like who I was becoming with you either."

"Maybe we were just never meant to happen," Chuck agrees, though his actions prove otherwise as he pulls her even closer.

"I think we needed these six months," Blair says instead, "to figure out who Blair Waldorf and Chuck Bass are without being together."

"I should have called."

"You wouldn't have anyways," Blair explains with a hint of a smirk in her voice.

"Maybe it would have stopped you from finding a real-life Prince," he says quietly, all pretense gone.

Blair shakes her head, "Louis was me figuring out that I didn't need a Prince."

"No?" he asks, the faintest glimmer of hope in his voice.

"I'm Queen at Columbia," she explains, "I don't need someone to rule with. I'm too selfish."

"We would rule the Upper East Side," Chuck suggests lightly, "Together."

"And we'd kill each other before that happened," Blair replies with a small laugh, "you and I were bound to fall apart."

It takes Chuck a while, to comprehend her words.

"When does the Prince return?" he asks instead, switching subjects with ease.

"Never," Blair admits, "I broke up with him."

"Gossip Girl said—"

"Gossip Girl isn't always right," Blair shrugs, "I don't need a Prince," she repeats.

"No," he consents, "you don't."

They stay like that, silent, just listening to each other's breathing.

"I told you before," Chuck begins, breaking the silence, "that I would win your heart pin back."

He feels, rather than hears, her sharp intake of breath, and when she responds, her voice is strained.

"And?"

"And I intend on keeping that promise."

Blair nods, Chuck smirks, and for a moment, everything is exactly how it should be.

"Good night, Blair."

"Good night, Chuck."

…

For a moment, she is transported back to two years ago, and the parallels between the situations are almost laughable.

They weren't together, and she had comforted him in the face of his father's death.

They had fallen asleep, limbs entwined, eyes fluttering closed despite their desire to remain in the moment forever.

She had woken to an empty bed, a note on the pillow, and the faint lingering scent of his cologne in the air.

Again, she berates herself for being played a fool once more.

The note is simple, and puzzling at the same time, as if the words were meant to make sense.

Blair frowns at the paper once more, then shrugs on her coat, grabs her fallen purse, and makes her way to the elevators.

_Going to London, important business._

_Thank you,_

_-Chuck

* * *

_

tbc_  
_


	7. Chapter 6

**AN: This is how committed I am to this story: on my last trip to NYC, I stopped by the J. Press store on Madison under the pretense of buying a tie for a friend. I did end up buying a tie, but I also found the most obstinately Chuck Bass-esque scarf. Was tempted to buy it, but alas, I doubt I could pull it off as only Chuck Bass could. Am overwhelmed by the incredible support - the alerts, favorites, and especially, reviews, make my day. Thanks to bethaboo and the kickass SaturnineSunshine, they both know why:).

* * *

**

It is wrong, he knows, to leave. Writing the note, watching her sleep, her hair fanned out on his pillow, the same pang of regret that he had ignored two years ago, passing through him.

This time, he isn't running.

Not exactly.

They had very nearly crossed a line last night, whispers passed between thousand-count sheets and silk pillows. And he would be lying if he said he wasn't afraid of what came next.

But Chuck Bass has always been a good liar.

Morning would have brought an entirely new conversation that he wasn't sure he was ready to have.

And so, he left before she woke, excusing himself to London. It was a legitimate reason, as he had a ten-hour flight to London and an imperative meeting with Erickson Beamon, one that cost him nearly eight thousand dollars.

He is cutting it close, Christmas being days away, and an adequate replacement gift is hardly possible this late. So Chuck drums his fingers on the table, looks out the window into a cloudless blue sky, and puts his faith in Erickson Beamon.

…

"What did the note say _exactly_?" Serena asks for the third time, and Blair nearly growls at her phone.

"You're hopeless, S," she retorts, stepping in from the cold and into the warm, well-lit spacious store. "It said 'going to London, important business. Thank you, Chuck.'"

"He said thank you?" Serena asks, skepticism evident in her tone. Blair rolls her eyes, but pastes on a smile as Anthony comes rushing forward.

Nodding towards Anthony, Blair allows herself to be led into the store amidst cries of "Miss Waldorf!" and "Will Mr. Bass be joining you today?" the latter making her cringe slightly.

"B?" Serena questions on her end, "Where are you?"

"Shopping," she replies briefly, "I've got to go, S, bye!"

Without waiting for a response, she snaps her phone shut and turns towards Anthony, businesslike in every way, from her black kate spade to the plaid headband in her curls.

"I need a present," she states, and Anthony nods knowingly.

"For Mr. Bass?" He asks, a twinkle in his eye.

Blair frowns inwardly, but her smile is brighter than ever as she is immediately drawn to the display of scarves.

"A Christmas present," she affirms, sliding a solid charcoal scarf through her fingertips.

Anthony sighs happily, muttering "young love" under his breath as he grins beatifically. Blair surprises herself when she feels no immediate desire to quell the thought that she and Chuck were together.

"A scarf?" Anthony nods towards the display, and Blair notes the trademark Yale bulldog blue with a sad twinge.

Her original plan had not been to buy Chuck a scarf. If anything, she had woken up to find herself being played a fool once again, and had resolved to never allow _him_ to have the same sway over her again.

Her plan had been to buy the most plebian, thoughtless, and utterly un-Chuck-like gift possible, to present it to him at the Van der Woodsen's dinner and walk away, the picture of calm.

As far as she is concerned, the words he had whispered under the darkness of the night had meant nothing. It was completely like Chuck, to run away in the face of true emotions, and Blair had been loath to believe that he was unchanged.

But the note she had memorized after crumpling it into a ball, said otherwise.

"I'm not sure," Blair says warily, letting her eye scan over the various items in the store. Perhaps J. Press hadn't been the wisest of choices. It was Chuck's favorite store after all, the place where he had bought his beloved scarf. Blair had become well known among the store's salespeople, having accompanied Chuck there numerous times, usually with a Bergdorf's bag, or perhaps a Tiffany's one, on her arm.

Coming to J. Press had definitely been a bad idea, Blair thinks with a small frown. Nearly everything in the store screamed Chuck Bass, save for the ridiculous Rufus Humphrey-esque sweaters.

"_Nate!" an eight-year old Blair Waldorf scolded in the voice of a thirty-year old, and Nate blushed slightly, mumbling an apology._

"_What are we doing here anyways?" Chuck piped up behind Nate, having been the instigator of a prank that had scored them more than a few terrible looks from other shoppers._

_The woman argued with the security guards as they dragged her along, claiming that she had no idea how the tie in her purse had gotten there._

"_I need to get a tie for Daddy," Blair retorted, turning away from the display and towards the patterned ties in front of her. J. Press had always been her Daddy's favorite brand, as it had been founded within Yale's storied grounds, his alma mater and Blair's future college._

"_What for?" Chuck asked, a bored look on his face as he too examined the ties._

"_It's his birthday," Blair replied, scandalized. As if her father's birthday were important enough to call for a day off school (not that she would ever miss school) and be first and foremost in everyone's mind._

"_Whatever," Chuck declared, wandering away from her. "I never get Bart presents. Rien buys them, wraps them, and I sign the card."_

_Before Blair could get another comment in, Chuck had wandered away, and she returned once more to the array of ties in front of her._

_Twenty minutes, a few unhelpful comments on Nate's part, and dozens of choices ties later, Blair held two in her hands. One tie was navy, decorated with gold fleur de lis and the other striped kelly green and navy._

_Hurrying over to Chuck, who was, for some reason, engrossed in the scarf display, Blair thrust both ties in his face, along with a demand of "Which one?" that only Blair Waldorf could pull off. "We need to hurry, before Dorota notices we're missing."_

"_The striped one," Chuck said, after a moment's thought._

"_Really?" Blair wrinkled her nose, "the green is so…bright."_

"_It's a tie," Chuck said with a shrug, "it should be bright."_

_The debate seemingly over, Chuck returned to the display he was previously engrossed in. As Blair watched him carefully, she noticed that he kept running the tips of his fingers along a patchwork silk scarf, looking over it thoughtfully. It was clearly not meant for an eight-year old, but Chuck had always dressed as though he were accompanying Bart to the office. _

"_You should get that," Blair piped up, and Chuck whipped around, as if he were unaware that she was still behind him._

"_Get what?" Nate inquired, popping up beside them._

"_That scarf," Blair nodded towards the scarf he had been examining, and Nate wrinkled his nose._

"_Boys don't wear scarves!" Nate proclaimed, an innocent eight-year old proclamation that made his best friend's smirk fade slightly._

"_Right," he replied, laughing along with Nate. Glancing at the ties in her hand, Chuck made an exasperated noise, "Still deciding, Waldorf?"_

"_I'll get the striped one," Blair replied confidently, as if it had been her idea all along. By the looks of Chuck's smirk, it hadn't, but that didn't stop Blair from marching up to the counter, miniature Chanel purse in hand._

"_You guys go ahead," she said quickly, and Chuck hung back as Nate made a dash for the door._

"_Go on, Chuck," Blair said with a roll of her eyes, "I'll be fine."_

"_Sure, Waldorf," he taunted with another smirk, but he too exited after Nate._

"_One second," Blair told the cashier, who had been looking at the unaccompanied children in amusement. _

_Running back to the scarf display as quickly as her small, mary-jane shoes (they made her almost as tall as Serena) would carry her; Blair picked up the scarf, and brought it back to the cashier._

"_Will that be all, miss?" the cashier asked, hiding a smile._

"_Yes, and gift wrap them separately, please," Blair said, her perfect breeding evident as she extracted the card from her purse._

"_Are kids even allowed to have credit cards?" the cashier asked another employee, whose only response was that Upper East Siders no longer surprised him. The two watched in slight awe and amusement as Blair Waldorf carried the navy blue bag out of the store, the picture of poise._

_Her father received his tie the next day, a smile lighting up his face as he thanked his Blair Bear._

_Chuck received his scarf the next morning, in a simple blue box, folded neatly with white and lavender striped tissue paper he knew to be the trademark of only one girl at Constance._

_As he put the scarf on, admiring it in the full-length mirror opposite his dresser, he smiled, despite the fact it was far too long, the ends of the scarf reaching his knees. He would wear it anyways._

_Chuck had looked for a card among the folds of the scarf, though he already knew whom it was from._

_The lack of a card only confirmed his suspicions._

As she wanders around the store, Anthony's background commentary less than a buzz in her ear, a flash of gold and purple catches her eye.

Without thinking, Blair reaches forward, picking up the almost obnoxiously colored scarf up and running it between her fingers.

"Ah," Anthony comments, a pleased smile working its way onto his features as he takes in the scarf, "one of our collegiate scarves, this one for Williams College. Pure merino wool, of course."

The scarf is almost gaudy, with its vivid purple and dull gold, but as Blair examines the scarf with the scrutiny of a jeweler examining a perfectly cut diamond, she knows she cannot leave the store without purchasing the scarf.

It is almost _too_ perfect, and as Anthony happily rings up her purchase and she slaps her card down, Blair feels as if she should be seething.

But the truth of the matter is, she can hardly wait to give it to him.

That is, if she decides to give it to him.

…

"Shit."

It was too good to be true. He should've known.

He had left New York at six in the morning, exactly as scheduled, and arrived in London at nine in the evening their time, just in time to make his ten o'clock appointment.

The visit to Erickson Beamon's flagship goes smoothly, the black velvet box secure in the breast pocket of his wool coat.

The snowstorm that had nearly prevented his descent into London, the same one that had nearly caused his driver to swerve onto oncoming traffic, was apparently the bane of his existence.

"You're telling me," he repeats, "that I can't leave London?"

"I'm sorry Mr. Bass," the woman apologizes again, cowering slightly under his glare. "But they're not letting anyone fly out until the snowstorm is cleared. We can offer you accommodation at—"

"I don't need fucking accommodation," he seethed, turning on his heel, "I'm going to find someone who can get me out of here."

He ignores the woman's protests as he stalks away, determination ringing through his steps.

…

"B?" Serena stands at the threshold of her room, looking at Blair perplexedly.

"Sorry about skipping out on dinner today, S" Blair with a smile, turning over the garment in her hands.

"It's alright," Serena replies cautiously, still eying the…_thing_ in Blair's hands, "are you alright?"

"I'm fine!" Blair snaps, "Really, Serena, I'm perfectly fine."

"Okay," Serena says warily, making her way over to Blair's bed.

"Chuck no longer has the capacity to hurt me," Blair assures her, her smile bright and wholly artificial, "I was just caught up in some last minute holiday shopping."

"Okay," Serena repeats again, and Blair replaces her smile with a smirk when she notices Serena's eyes nearly bugging out of her head.

"B…" Serena begins guardedly, "what is _that_?"

"This?" Blair's smirk widens, holding up the garment for Serena to see, "It's Chuck's present, of course."

"That?" Serena questions, taking in the utter absurdity of the pattern while Blair nodded emphatically.

"I'm sure he'll love it," Serena conceded drily, averting her eyes lest the bright print burn her eyes.

"Thanks," Blair says breezily, tossing the garment aside.

"So you're okay with this," Serena states, settling down beside Blair.

"I'll admit, waking up to find another note hurt," Blair confesses, bowing her head slightly, "but fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…"

Blair allows the words to hang between them, and Serena nods and smiles, though she knows Blair's façade as well as she knows her best friend's closet.

"Enough about Chuck," Blair decides, getting up from the bed, and stalking over to her closet, "what are you wearing for Christmas dinner?"

"A dress?" Serena hazards, flopping down among Blair's plush bedding in preparation for a fashion show.

Blair rolls her eyes, "You know, sometimes I think you would have been better born in a neighborhood where no one worries about what clothes they wear."

Ducking into her closet to avoid the powder blue silk pillow thrown her way, Blair emerges with an armful of dresses and a self-satisfied smirk.

"Are all those from today?" Serena asks with a raised eyebrow, taking in the silks and lace, beaded bodices and capped sleeves.

"Some are from last week," Blair explains, dumping the pile onto the bed and picking up the first dress, a black silk and tulle confection.

Chuck had all but disappeared from the conversation as they delved into the pile, squealing over beaded bodices and satin overlays.

"I love the neckline on this one," Serena comments, holding up a red dress with a square neckline edged in black lace that tapered to a narrow waist, and a semi-pleated skirt that barely brushed the tops of her knees, "you could wear that necklace Louis got you."

"Wearing an ex-boyfriend's jewelry?" Blair wrinkles her nose, shaking her head, "Tacky," she ascertains.

Serena raises an eyebrow, but stays quiet, knowing that there is another necklace that would be perfect for the dress. A necklace from another 'ex-boyfriend' of Blair's, if you would deign to call him that.

Because even Serena knew they were so much more.

"S?" Blair prompts, jarring Serena out of her reverie, "What are you going to wear?"

"Oh," Serena frowns, "that new black dress I bought the other day, I suppose."

"The one with the sequins?" Blair shoots Serena an admonishing look, but the blonde ignores it, nodding vigorously.

"And I could pair it with those red Manolos you were going to buy me for Christmas," she teases, and Blair smirks at Serena.

"The present I bought _instead_ of those Manolos would match your gold Lanvins better," she comments offhandedly.

"B!" Serena pouts.

"What?" Blair asks innocently, "I would have never gotten you anything you were expecting. You know that much."

"Blair," Serena says, her tone serious while her blue eyes remained playful, "you know you wanted them too. In fact, I'd say you already bought yourself a pair and are hiding them under your bed."

As soon as the words leave Serena's mouth, both girls glance towards Blair's bed, and both dive simultaneously, nearly knocking each other out of the way.

It is only because Serena has ridiculously long legs and arms, Blair reasons, as Serena emerges from the impromptu scuffle, shoebox in her hands.

"I knew it!" Serena crows, victorious.

"They didn't have any in your size," Blair pleads, attempting to snatch the shoebox back from Serena, who only shot her a _'Really?'_ look.

"Red's _my_ colour," Blair states instead, crossing her arms in front of her and glaring at the blonde.

"And I saw them first!"

"They looked better on me," Blair explains, smiling beatifically at Serena.

Sighing, Serena hands the box over to a triumphant Blair, shaking her head.

"You know, B…" Serena instigates, trailing off suggestively.

"What?" Blair asks absentmindedly, pulling her shoes out of the box and placing them reverently on her shelf.

"If you had waited till Christmas morning, those shoes would have been yours," Serena finishes casually, flicking an imaginary piece of lint from her sweater.

"I suppose I'll have to buy you something else," Serena states with a heavy sigh, making her way over to the doors.

"S?" Blair calls out, and Serena turns back, expectant.

"I really liked those lacy Valentinos," she reminds her playfully, and Serena shakes her head with a smile.

"Noted."

About to head back into her own room, Serena turns to Blair once more, "Blair?"

"Yes?" Blair's voice is muffled from the inside of her closet, and Serena would hazard a guess that her best friend is trying on the red dress, "They _did_ have my size in those Manolos."

With an attempt at a smirk, only to find it wasn't really her style, and another giggle, Serena closes the door between their rooms.

It really was generous of Blair to give her a room of her own, Serena recalls with a smile, the bright yellow never failing to uplift her mood.

Making a mental note to exchange Blair's shoes the next day, Serena picks up her phone, only to notice the six missed calls from her mom.

Biting her lip, Serena raises the phone to her ear, unwanted worry coursing through her as the rings increased in pitch and fervor.

Or perhaps that was just her.

"Serena?"

"Mom," she says, only slightly frantically, "you called?"

"I did," Lily states, "Charles called me."

"Chuck?"

"He's stuck in London, and trying to get a flight back home," Lily explains. "He asked me for help, but I'm afraid there's not much I can do when even the Bass jet is grounded."

"Why was he in London?" Serena asks, glancing towards the door she had just entered from.

"He didn't say. His phone's battery was dying, so the call was brief. He told me to expect him for Christmas, though. He seemed quite determined to make it."

"I can only guess why," Serena responds wryly, glancing towards the door once more.

"I just wanted to let you know," Lily says. "Tell Blair not to worry too much."

"That's going to be difficult," Serena explains drily, smiling to herself.

If the last two times Chuck had disappeared were any indication, Blair would most likely worry herself to the point where she would hire another PI.

Remembering Blair's declaration, Serena sighs once more, and changes the subject to one of garlands and the color scheme of this year's dinner.

…

"Serena!"

She turns at the sound of her name, careful not to spill the scalding coffee in her hands.

"Nate," she acknowledges, smiling at the sight of her..._friend_. "What are you doing here?"

"Christmas shopping," Nate says with a grimace, nodding towards the bags in his hands.

"Any of those for me?" Serena jokes, and they share an awkward laugh.

"Of course," he assures her, "we've always gotten presents for each other, haven't we?"

"We have," Serena says with a smile of reminiscence, "so you're joining us on Christmas?"

"My mother was supposed to too, but she's opted for a Van der Bilt Christmas," Nate explains.

"It's the four of us together for Christmas again."

"Just like old times," Nate recalls with a grin, "except it was usually Eleanor and the Captain pushing Blair and I together, and Bart and your mom dropping you guys off after brunch."

Serena sighs, "Things have changed, haven't they?"

"They have," Nate agrees, "You and I, for one—"

"I've been meaning to talk to you about that," Serena begins, clearly uncomfortable, "Nate, I think I'll always love you. As a friend. I think we needed to be together, if only so we could both move on."

Nate pauses, as if deep in thought, and takes another sip of his coffee.

And another.

Until Serena nearly cries out, "Nate!" and he finally turns to her, his resolve clear.

"I think so too," he admits.

"Friends?" Serena holds out her hand, and Nate looks at it in amusement.

"Friends," he agrees, shaking her hand.

…

Swearing under his breath, Chuck's finger hovers over the _call_ button, ignoring his instinctual natural revulsion at the name highlighted on the screen.

Having exhausted every other option, and time running out as Christmas came upon him, Chuck knows that Carter Baizen is his final option.

"Baizen," he very nearly growls, attempting to remain civil.

"Bass," the smugness in his voice is clear as day, and it takes all of Chuck's willpower to _not_ hang up the phone. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I need your help."

Carter Baizen truly was his last option, and though Chuck was loath to _ask_ for help from his sworn enemy, it is his last shred of hope.

"Bass, calling me for help?" the delight in Carter's voice is evident, even though Chuck is almost sure there is an ocean between them.

"Your family," he says instead, not bothering to acknowledge Carter's smugness, "they're important in London."

"Or so I hear," Carter replies, slightly bitterly. And Chuck has to remember that he is not the only one subject to absent fathers.

"London's airports are refusing to allow any planes to fly out, and I'm needed back in New York," Chuck begins, hesitantly, almost arrogantly, "I need your help."

"Never have I thought there would be a day where _you_ were begging for my help," Carter chuckles, "I'm sure my grandfather could pull some strings."

"Thank—" he almost voices his gratitude, but Carter interrupts him.

"The question is do _I_ want to ask my grandfather to help _you_?"

"I can pay you," Chuck offers, hating the desperation that has crept into his voice.

"I don't need money, least of all yours," Carter replies with a malicious laugh.

"If your last disappearance in New York is any indication—"

"In the past," Carter growls, "Like you said, Bass, I'm not the only one with strong familial ties."

"Then what do you want?" Chuck nearly yells into his phone, exhaustion and frustration finally creeping up on him.

There is a prolonged moment of silence on the other end, and Chuck has to glance at his phone to ensure that Carter has not hung up on him.

"Just…tell Serena I'm sorry," Carter finally says, and Chuck is surprised at the earnestness in the other man's voice.

"Is that all?" he cannot help the surprise in his voice as much as he cannot help the question.

"I'll give my grandfather a call," Carter replies, "no guarantees, Bass."

He is loath to repeat the sentiment of gratitude that had been interrupted before, but before he can make up his mind, Carter's voice crackles through the speaker once more.

"This changes nothing between us, Bass."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Chuck responds with a smirk, before the line goes dead.

Reclining in the chair, Chuck breathes a sigh of relief, and a silent thank-you to Carter Baizen.

…

"Are you okay, B?" Serena inquires, as Blair flits about the dining room, straightening every place setting and lining up each piece of silverware with the precision of an artist.

"Fine," Blair retorts with a bright smile, her eyes affixed to the napkin ring that was slightly askew.

"You're a bit…edgy." Serena says cautiously, lest she be the one to unleash the fury that barely bubbled away under the surface of Blair Waldorf.

"Just nervous," Blair huffs, fingers curling around the stem of a champagne glass, moving it a millimeter from its former position.

"Alright," Serena relents dubiously, still eyeing her best friend carefully, only to be interrupted by the entrance of Dan, Eric, and Rufus.

"Blair," Dan acknowledges, and Blair nods in return. "Merry Christmas." The brunette returns the sentiment, then returns to perfecting the tableware. The two had forged a temporary truce, knowing that neither was to blame for what had happened in the past.

"Serena," Dan says with more warmth, and Serena smiles brightly in return. "Merry Christmas."

"To you too," Serena returns with an incline of her head, reveling in her new found friendship with Dan.

"What's Blair doing?" Dan asks conspiratorially, joining her in the corner.

"Fixing the table," Serena replies sardonically, watching Blair move from place setting to place setting, forehead furrowed in concentration.

"Is she going to be…alright?" Dan inquires in pure disbelief. "She's a bit…jumpy."

"Exactly what I said," Serena assures him, "she'll be alright. She's just…anxious."

"For?"

"Chuck's supposed to be here," Serena admits, looking sideways at Dan, knowing her other step-brother was still a point of contention for the step-brother—was that really all that he was? —in front of her.

"Lily told us," Dan responds frostily, "she also warned us to be civil."

"It's Christmas," Serena reminds him.

"Well," Dan says thoughtfully, eyes sweeping the room, "it looks like we'll have nothing to worry about, considering he's not here."

"Well, for Blair's sake, I do hope he shows up," Serena announces, ignoring Dan's look of apprehension. Turning to him, Serena smiles playfully, "Would you rather ignore Chuck all night or have to deal with _that_ Blair?" she inclines her head towards the brunette, who is now fixing Eric's bowtie.

"That would be the lesser of two evils," Dan agrees in amusement, and they share a laugh, watching Blair attempt to fix Eric's hair after being through with his bowtie.

"I'm going to go save Eric," Serena claims, edging towards the pair, though she looks unwilling to leave.

"He looks fine now," Dan jokes, nodding towards Blair who had given up on her ministrations and seemed to be headed in the direction of the kitchen, presumably to comment on the cooking. "What do you say we go and attempt to save my dad from his depression? He's in sorts over this whole Jenny thing."

"She's still refusing to see him?" Serena inquires, eyes wide.

"She called today," Dan protests, "except the call lasted all of forty seconds."

"I'm sorry, you know I am," Serena begins, only to be interrupted by Dan.

"It's what's best for her, for everyone," Dan says for her, and Serena nods. "I know, sometimes I just wish I had my sister back."

"You'll get her back," Serena says, though her tone is uncertain.

"Yeah, I hope so," Dan replies with a wistful look, and he grabs Serena's hand unconsciously, causing the blonde to smile.

* * *

tbc


	8. Chapter 7

**AN: I'll admit it - I'm a review whore, through and through. Each e-mail makes me smile, smirk, grin, dance about, and just want to buy y'all your own Cartier watches and Kelly bags. Now, I'm not usually one to beg for reviews, but how am I ever going to have this candlelit CB reunion without your help/encouragement/advocacy/inspiration? (And I've been told that if begging doesn't work, I'm to sic B (the oh-so-fabulous Very Last Valkyrie) on you. I kid, I kid). But to everyone who has reviewed? A thousand, million, trillion thank-yous, coupled with Godiva chocolates and Chuck's favorite scotch. Teasers have been sent out in the form of review replies, and your presents are due to arrive before Christmastime.  
**

**Alright, I'll stop my moaning. But to those who have asked, Carter will not be making an appearance here - his character is confined to chapter six, I'm afraid, as a way to exemplify that Chuck will go to any length of trouble for B.  
**

**Thanks, as always, to bethaboo, beta extraordinaire.

* * *

**

The minutes tick by on the antique clock, its weathered face and intricately carven wood a masterpiece in itself. But the loud, obstinate ticking causes Blair to clench her dainty hands, perfectly painted nails digging into her palms, eyes glued to the barely moving, delicately wrought gold hands.

Chuck is late.

Lily had opted for a rather large Christmas, her propensity for fetes and soirees shining through in the meticulous planning of the event. Though Rufus argued that Christmas was meant for family, Lily had obstinately planned the event, wishing to get Rufus' mind off the missing part of his family, the one refusing to see him. By surrounding him with approximately eight families—seven of which he doesn't know, Lily hopes to make him forget.

Most of the guests now mill around uncomfortably, oblivious to the brunette's restlessness, but completely aware of the fact that dinner was to have started half an hour ago.

Blair's ruby lips are pulled into a taut grin, and though she has given up on hiding her obsession with the time, Serena can tell that her best friend is in utter denial.

"B," Serena cautions, and braces herself for the retort. "Do you think we should…"

"No." Blair's reply is immediate, cutting, and her eyes have not strayed from the clock.

"It's half past—"

"I said _no_, Serena," Blair shoots back, her gaze never faltering.

Serena sighs, knowing that Blair would not call Chuck even if she were threatened to. Which was unfortunate, considering her mom's, hers, and even Nate's calls had gone straight to voicemail.

Call her crazy, but Serena knew that Blair would pick up if Chuck called.

Turning towards Dan's questioning gaze, Serena shakes her head no, and bites her lip as she turns back towards Blair.

Her gaze falls on the brunette, who is dressed to the nines in the red dress Serena complimented. The deep wine complements the black lace neckline perfectly, tapers to a narrow waist, and a semi-pleated skirt that barely brushed the tops of her knees. The dress, however, takes a backseat to the diamond necklace that Blair wears, one that complements the square neckline. Serena would have bet half her Christmas presents that Blair had worn the dress for the necklace, not the other way around.

Serena notices Blair's phone, lying ever so innocently next to the brunette's skirt, and smiles mischeviously.

…

Across the room, Lily bites her lip and clutches her own phone, her worry increasing as the minutes tick by. Her worry was not of the guests who had already begun to whisper, despite the fact that their wine glasses were never empty and hors d'oeuvres were continuously circulated. Her worry was of the fact that Charles had yet to appear, had yet to call.

In another twenty minutes, Lily's delay in serving dinner would border on scandalous, and Lily knew that while she was a mother, she was also a van der Woodsen.

Torn between waiting for Charles—who has promised to be there—and maintaining her image as a society matron, Lily worries.

Lifting the phone to her ear, she listens with breathless anticipation once more, though she knows she will only hear—

"You've reached Chuck Bass. Leave me a message and I might respond."

…

"Wow. You got Blair's phone?"

Dan's voice is surprised, almost disbelieving, and Serena's only response is to smack his chest lightly.

"Don't act so surprised," Serena admonishes, scrolling expertly through the contacts.

Only to realize that she didn't need to.

Blair's speed dial #1 is Chuck Bass. The fact both hurts and makes her smile. The smile is faint, for Blair _is_ her best friend…and the laws of speed dials—set out by a young Blair in eighth grade—governed that the first speed-dial be reserved for the best friend.

The second, of course, went to the boyfriend.

And Chuck wasn't even her boyfriend, Serena thinks with a small pout, though the fact that Chuck had surpassed her, even if only in Blair's speed-dial, meant something.

As Serena calls Chuck's phone, a small giggle falls from her peony-colored lips, and Dan looks at her questioningly.

Serena shakes her head, partly because Dan would roll his eyes at her logic, and partly because she knows it is silly.

It's silly because Serena shouldn't have been surprised that Chuck was first.

However, she _is_ surprised when Chuck's phone goes directly to voicemail, yet again. He had no reason to cancel Blair's call—if anything, Serena expects him to pick up on the first ring.

Flopping back against the low chaise, Serena shakes her head slightly at Dan.

"Nothing?" he asks, though he already knows the answer.

"Nothing," she confirms. "I really thought he would answer."

"I did too," Dan admits, "I mean, this is Chuck Bass. He's selfish, and he's a bastard, but with Blair…"

"He's different," Serena finishes, "and Chuck's not—"

"Not always," Dan relents, and Serena smiles. Because this is progress. Progress from the anger that has flitted across Dan's face whenever Chuck's name was mentioned.

"He _is_ selfish," Serena acknowledges, "but he promised he'd be back for Christmas dinner. Chuck Bass has never broken a promise, yet."

"Maybe that's why he doesn't make many promises," Dan replies wryly, and Serena shakes her head.

"Chuck doesn't break promises where Blair's concerned," she amends. "Well, at least not as far as I know."

"They're a pair, aren't they?" Dan says sardonically, and Serena does nothing but nod.

"It's funny," she begins, after a moment's contemplation, "I never understood how they could be together. They're too…alike."

"People like Chuck and Blair should never happen," Dan agrees, "they're destructive."

"They are," Serena admits, recalling a time when Blair and Chuck had teamed up against _her_.

"But now, now, I can't see either of them with anyone else."

"Blair dated the Prince for nearly six months," Dan points out.

Serena shakes her head, finally realizing that relationship for what it was, "That was just an…interlude. A brief pause between the hurricane of Chuck and Blair. B needed someone like Louis, if only to piece her heart back together."

"So she could give it back to Chuck," Dan says, and Serena wonders why she cannot detect a hint of cynicism in Dan's voice.

"I don't think she'll be doing that in the near future," Serena says with a quiet laugh, "especially not with the stunt Chuck pulled."

"Disappearing?" Dan asks, as if looking for confirmation.

Serena shakes her head once more, "No. Well, yes. But the night before he left, they were…together."

Dan scrunches up his nose, and Serena is quick to amend her statement, "They didn't sleep together. Not in that way. They just…slept next to each other."

Serena's look of confusion matches Dan's, and they both look contemplatively at each other, when a sudden cry interrupts them.

…

"Charles!" Lily's cry of relief is heard throughout the penthouse, and more than a few guests turn towards the newest arrival.

Chuck Bass strides into the van der Woodsen penthouse, circles under his eyes, slipping off his coat to reveal a black suit, perfectly pressed white shirt, and a black and red bowtie that matched his paisley red pocket square.

His pocket square wasn't the only thing his bowtie matched, he notices as Blair turns to him, slowly, as if she didn't care.

The tense set of her shoulders and the relief in her eyes tells him otherwise.

"Lily," he says breezily, "apologies for my late arrival. I was detained in London because of the snow, and my phone died on the plane."

"That's alright," Lily replies, her tone formal, but her eyes warm, "I'm just glad you made it. Time for dinner?" she addresses the crowd.

The mass of people make their way to the dining room, to the elegant table that had been set up in his absence, and Chuck tries to catch Blair's eye, to reach her before she leaves.

She turns to him, just once, and the hurt in her eyes stills his movements.

But then he spots the necklace around her neck. His necklace.

And he smiles.

…

It is all Serena's fault.

Somehow, between Blair's fretting over the silverware and her change into the red dress and Chuck's necklace, Serena must have switched place cards.

There is no other explanation for how the Basstard ended up in front of her, that smirk on his face as the toe of his Italian loafers ran the length of her calf.

Kicking him sharply with her new black Louboutins, Blair relishes the wince of pain, and returns to conversing with Thomas West, who is conveniently seated next to her.

"So, Blair," he says as his eyes run over the rather risqué neckline of her dress, and Blair restrains herself from rolling her eyes. "Where are you going again?"

"Columbia," she replies, taking another sip of champagne, glancing at Chuck casually out of the corner of her eye.

"Impressive," Thomas croons, leaning closer, "I was going to go to Columbia."

"Oh?" Blair cocks her head to the side, as if to make a point, but it is more to distance herself further from him.

"I go to Yale," Thomas says with a smile, and Blair ignores the twist of her stomach, the slight pang in her heart. "Father wanted me there. You know how it is, with legacies and all."

"I do," Blair replies through gritted teeth, but her smile never wavers.

"Didn't you have your sights set on Yale as well?" Thomas flashes a smile, but his innocent question draws a point of contention with the brunette.

"Yes, well, I decided staying in the city was more appealing," Blair says offhandedly.

"New York is enticing," Thomas agrees, "but New Haven was a welcome breath of fresh air. And only a short train ride from New York. You could visit, if you'd like. I'd love to show you around campus."

Before Blair has a chance to respond, another voice cuts in. A deeper, rasping voice that holds nothing but contempt for the suggestion.

"Blair much prefers a limo," Chuck cuts in with a lascivious smile thrown Blair's way as she seethes, "by the way, B, I do adore seeing you wear my necklace."

"It simply fit the dress," Blair shoots back, venom in her eyes, though her hand reaches up to touch the delicate diamonds at her throat. "It would have been an insult not to wear it."

"An insult, indeed," Chuck agrees, "considering what I've commissioned from Erickson Beamon for you."

The surprise that plays out across her face is all too enjoyable to him, as is the look of perplexity that Thomas wears.

"That's—that's not possible," Blair says breathlessly, "Erickson Beamon doesn't do custom orders."

"They do for certain people," Chuck clarifies, "and they definitely do for Chuck Bass."

"What did you do, tell them you were Chuck Bass?" Blair sneers, and Chuck smirks slightly, both at her words, and at the fact that Thomas has turned away from them both, his attempts at drawing Blair back into conversation falling flat.

"There was a certain amount of money thrown in with the charm," Chuck says smoothly, "all for you, of course."

Blair allows her icy exterior to thaw for a moment, but it is back within seconds, a matching smirk in place.

"After disappearing for days, do you really think I can be swayed by petty gifts?" Blair whispers harshly, "I'm not one of your whores, Chuck."

"Ah," he admonishes, "but if I recall correctly, that very necklace around your neck is proof that you _can_ be swayed."

"Not anymore," Blair replies, a fiery determination about her, "I've come to realize I don't need you, Chuck."

"You'll always need me," he nearly growls, "just as I'll always lo—"

"Lily!" Blair says loudly, making the few around her jump, "this apple pie is simply amazing."

"Thank you, Blair," Lily replies congenially, sharing a conspiratorial smile with Serena, who sits to her left, "Alfonso did a stunning job with Christmas dinner this year."

"Mother always had our Christmas dinners catered," Blair trills, "but I do prefer Alfonso's chocolate parfaits."

Angling herself away from him, Blair couldn't help but feel the heat of Chuck's gaze on her exposed skin.

Perhaps the necklace had been a bad idea after all.

…

The atmosphere is tense when Lily returns from ushering out the last of the guests, and the tension is not lost on her as she takes her place beside Rufus.

The line of division is clear, and although some of the animosity between Rufus, Dan, and Chuck has lessened somewhat, it didn't keep them from turning their backs to him.

Serena and Blair are engrossed in conversation, as are Nate and Eric, leaving Chuck sitting off to the side by himself.

"Charles," Lily calls, and he looks up from his scotch in surprise, as if the sound of his name is foreign to himself.

"Don't sit so far off," Lily admonishes with a smile, and motions for him to join the group.

Slightly taken aback, Chuck smoothes his surprise over quickly, sitting beside a slightly disgruntled Blair and taking another sip of his scotch.

"Presents?" Serena asks, the excitement shining in her blue eyes, her eagerness neither constricted nor slight.

A round of laughter echoes around the van der Woodsen's penthouse, and Chuck begins to feel himself relax as Serena passes out her gifts.

There is the ripping sound of wrapping paper and a chorus of thank-yous; laughter over presents and smiles bestowed on the glowing blonde.

"You got Rufus a waffle-maker?" Nate asks in obvious confusion, and Serena blushes slightly.

"In replacement of his old one," Serena explains, and she and Dan exchange a glance, both proceeding to smile slightly, at a memory no one else is privy to.

The significance of the covert glance is not lost on the rest of the group, and Blair jumps in quickly with a change of subject, quickly striding over to hug her best friend. "I love my shoes, S."

"You did pick them out," Serena admits grudgingly, tipping her champagne glass to Blair in acknowledgement.

Dan is the last to offer his thanks, and Serena, after being inundated with thank-yous for sailboat cufflinks and Yurman earrings, turns to him expectantly.

Dan is holding the aging book in his hands delicately, as if afraid it will fall apart if he dared open the cover.

"Dan?" Serena prompts, anxiety in her eyes as Dan's own eyes widen even more.

"This," Dan nearly whispers, "is a first-edition _Leaves of Grass_."

Serena smiles, and nods emphatically, while Blair catches Nate's look of hurt, before he covers it with an easy smile.

"Do you know how much this costs?" Dan squeaks, his voice crackling with excitement. Serena nods again, and Blair, Chuck notices, has to refrain from rolling her eyes.

"She bought it, Humphrey," Blair reminds him, then turns her back on the pair, looking expectantly at the group as Dan continues his raptures over the book in the background.

"Who's next?"

Chuck hands out his presents next, each one more extravagant than the last—save for the Humphreys' presents, of course.

But to Blair, whom he passes without handing out a gift, he only smirks.

"Your gift comes later," he tells her, in a voice so low that it isn't heard by most of the room.

Blair only tosses her hair and turns to Serena.

Chuck only smirks.

…

Nearly an hour later, piles of wrapping paper litter the ground, gifts have been exclaimed over, and false smiles have been exchanged under pretense.

Blair, true to her character, is the last to give out her gifts. Lily exclaims delightedly over her pearl earrings, Nate thanks Blair graciously for the white-and-blue striped tie, Eric smiles at the Pucci-print pocket square, and Serena throws her arms around Blair once unwrapping her delicate, gold feathered bracelet.

Rufus and Dan thank Blair for her present of completely impersonal leather gloves, though the three understand that the propriety is solely for Lily's benefit.

But the greatest shock is not the fact that Blair deigned to give presents to the Humphreys (though their presents to her and been lumped in with Lily's gift of a Chloé bag—which Lily had evidently picked out), but her gift to Chuck.

Chuck is the last to open his gift, and nearly everyone in the room turns to him expectantly, as if they expected a ticking time bomb within Blair's perfectly wrapped purple-and-gold gift.

Instead, Chuck unwraps one of the most disgustingly colored cardigans any of them have ever seen. Even Rufus wears a look of confusion at the garment, which would arguably be at home in his own closet in Brooklyn. Even then, Rufus doubted he would ever wear such a brightly colored, woolen cardigan. Diamonds of black were interspersed throughout a rainbow of differently colored, heavyweight wool.

Nearly everyone in the room wear equal looks of bafflement, save for Serena, who has already seen the sweater, and Eric, who already knows the back-story of Chuck and Blair.

The two van der Woodsen siblings shared a look that spoke of _'only Chuck and Blair'_ and _'they really are a match, aren't they?'_

And Blair, who sits perched on the chaise like the cat who caught the canary, only smirks.

…

Lily had quickly announced coffee and leftover cranberry tartelettes after Chuck unwrapped Blair's gift, drawing the crowd into the living room with an easy smile.

Blair, Chuck notices, slips away from the crowd, and after a few whispered words to Lily, and begins to make her way up the stairs.

Chuck glances back, as Blair ascends the steps, something telling him that he should…

"Chuck!" His thoughts are interrupted by Eric, who is motioning him over, presumably to discuss the sweater still clutched in his hand.

Grudgingly, Chuck makes his way to Eric's side, all while glancing at the staircase Blair has just disappeared up.

Ten minutes pass before Chuck can no longer restrain himself, and he makes his excuses to Lily, before setting aside his mug and nearly running up the steps.

Serena, taking note of this, leans over to Eric, a mischievous smile on her glossed lips.

At first, Eric shakes his head vehemently, knowing that no good can come from meddling with Chuck and Blair. But when Serena pleads, her bottom lip pouting and her blue eyes wide, her voice coercing her younger brother to take part in a scheme…just this once…

And against his better judgment, Eric nods.

…

"Serena helped me," Blair's laughter carries to him, as Chuck walks as silently as he possibly can down the carpeted hallway. "Thanks for the recipe, Daddy. It was perfect."

A pause, and Chuck pauses as well, though he is mere steps from Eric's bedroom. A silent whisper of relief courses through his being, as he had expected a different sound.

Running water, and not the tinkling sound of her laughter as she converses with her father.

"Next Christmas," he hears her say, and dares take another few steps towards her.

There is a longer pause next, and Chuck strains to hear the next part of her conversation.

"No."

The tone of her voice has changed considerably, and Chuck is left wondering what caused such a change when she answers his unspoken question.

"I broke up with him."

Blair's words are terse now, and quieter, requiring Chuck to take a few more careful steps.

Those few steps would be his downfall, he realized belatedly, as the floor creaked under his second step, and Blair's explanation stilled.

"I've got to go," she says quickly, "it's not Christmas in France anymore, but tell mother, Cyrus, and Roman I said Merry Christmas."

He hears the end of her sentiment before she approaches him in the doorway of Eric's bedroom, glaring at him.

"Listening into my phone conversations now?" she sneers, and Chuck only smirks in return, brushing past her and into Eric's room. He makes sure to close the door behind them, an action Blair eyes with distrust. Nevertheless, the door remains closed.

"I was merely curious as to why you would slip away after dinner," he returns easily, settling down into a brown leather armchair.

Blair rolls her eyes at the insinuation; "I haven't done _that_ in years, Chuck."

"Forgive my confusion," he drawls, still fiddling with the sweater in hand. "You did give me _this_, after all. I was afraid you were so overcome with grief you lost the ability to think rationally."

Blair wrinkles her nose, eyes averted from the sweater, as if _she_ cannot stand to look at it either.

"And what exactly would I be grieving? The loss of a non-existent relationship?"

Her words are venomous, and for the first time all evening, Chuck is allowed to see past the shiny, hardened veneer, and into the pain he had inflicted by leaving.

"I went to London," he says, repeating his earlier words, "for your present."

"I _know_," Blair sighs, then glares once more. "A present you still haven't given to me."

"Then this is a perfect opportunity," Chuck smiles, taking a small, flat black box decorated with a red bow, form the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

She is prepared to scoff, but the sight of the box, coupled with the fact that he has mentioned its designer as Erickson Beamon proves all too much for her curiosity.

With even, measured steps, Blair walks towards Chuck, reaching out instinctively, her curiosity burning in her eyes before—

"Not until," Chuck pulls his hand back, and Blair's movements stop abruptly, her curious expression marred by annoyance, "you tell me where my real present is."

"In your hands," Blair trills, a glint of wickedness in her eyes.

Chuck shakes his head.

Blair, her eyes still fixated on the black box, heaves a sigh, and makes her way to her leather tote bag on the bed. Chuck had wondered why she had opted for the bag, when Blair normally paired slim clutches with her dresses.

"Here," she says grudgingly, drawing a slim box wrapped in silver, tied with a purple bow.

She tosses the box at him, and Chuck catches it easily, proffering the black jewelry box in return.

"We open our presents together?" Chuck suggests, and Blair wrinkles her nose.

"What are we, five?"

"It was your favorite tradition," Chuck reminds her, and Blair blushes at the memory. Eleanor had ridiculed Blair for continuing the tradition when she grew older, and Blair had eventually adopted more socially accepted traditions.

"Fine," Blair says, as if she really couldn't give a damn. But the small smile that she now wears is contrary to that.

"On three?"

"One."

"Two."

"Three."

Before either can open their respective gifts, the unmistakable sound of a key turning is heard, and both Chuck and Blair turn to the door simultaneously.

Blair is the first at the door, her dainty fists pounding on the wood.

"Serena!" she nearly yells.

The resulting giggle seems awfully far away, nearly down the hall, and Chuck leans his head against the wall beside the door.

He's unsure if he should be angry, or glad.

"Just talk," comes another voice, Eric's voice, they realize. "Then we'll let you out."

"Eric," Blair growls, and another set of footsteps echoes down the hall.

"Well," Chuck turns to Blair, smirk in place, "looks like we're stuck here together."

Blair's glare is ferocious in the least, and she stalks over to grab her phone, and Chuck delights in the way her cheeks have flamed red, and her hair has fallen from its elegant bun—

"Serena Celia van der Woodsen," she begins dangerously, to Serena's voicemail, Chuck supposes. "If you don't unlock that door right now, I will personally have all the locks in my penthouse changed, then proceed to throw each and every pair of your beloved shoes out the window. Want to know how much damage can be done to a pair of Manolos from seven floors up? You'll find out."

Chuck makes his way to the bed as Blair paces the room, jabbing the _end call_ button with ferocity.

"Looks like we'll be in here for a while," Chuck purrs, "what do you say we—"

Before he has a chance to finish his sentence, the entire room goes dark.

"Fuck."

* * *

tbc


	9. Chapter 8

**AN: Wow. You guys are truly the most wonderful, amazing, stupendous reviewers a girl could ask for. Thank you all _so_ much for the reviews. After last chapter's incredible response, I'm hoping this one will be equally well received? I had this planned out before similar events happened on GG, but I can say with certainty that in my version, New Year's will have CB trying something old...not new;) And if you're so inclined, I've a pre-series CB that's near and dear to my heart that I'd love for y'all to read.**

**To everyone reading my Christmas o/s as well, I truly apologize for the delay. My creative ability is shot, and a whirlwind vacation left me without much time to write. I will try to catch up soon, but that may not happen - in any case, your reviews for that fic are truly loved as well! Thanks!  
**

**Thanks to bethaboo, as always, by now you all should know I adore her and her fantabulous beta-ing skills.

* * *

**

Chuck turns to Blair's voice in surprise, the curse dropping ever so elegantly from her ruby lips.

It's dark, the lights of the room completely extinguished as Blair curses once more, stubbing her toe on the edge of Eric's bed.

She makes it to her destination, eventually, and throws open the heavy drapes, allowing bright moonlight to stream through the glass. Below them, the lights of New York City have been doused as well, completely enveloping the city in darkness.

"Well," Blair jumps slightly, his voice startlingly close as she turned around slowly, only to find him a mere foot away. "This is interesting."

"There must be candles somewhere in Eric's room," Blair says instead, skirting around Chuck's form as best she can in near darkness. "We just have to find them."

Blair's phone rings suddenly, and answers with annoyance written clear across her face.

"I suppose I have _you_, Serena, to thank for this."

Blair paces angrily around the room as she sputters out accusations, until Chuck has to wrench the phone from her and put it on speakerphone.

"Again, I didn't make the lights go out!" Serena huffs, and beside him, Blair seethes.

"Well just get the damn key and get us out of here," Blair replies stonily, not glancing Chuck's way. There is a moment of silence on the other end, and Blair frowns once more. "S?"

"Well, you see—"

"Serena van der Woodsen, do not tell me that you lost the key," Blair all but growls.

"We didn't lose it, exactly. It's just, I tripped going down the stairs and it fell somewhere behind—"

"Well, find it," Blair shrieks, and Chuck has to lean away, lest he lose his hearing.

"The lights are out, B," Serena placates soothingly. "Besides, we said we weren't going to unlock the door until you talked."

"Serena," Blair says exasperatedly, "you do realize that if I wanted to murder the mother chucker that you've just given me the perfect opportunity?"

"You wouldn't," Serena and Chuck say simultaneously, and Blair arches an eyebrow at him.

"Just talk," Serena says again. "Eric says there are flashlights and candles in the top drawer of his bedside table."

"Always prepared, that one," Chuck murmurs, before making his way over to the aforementioned drawer.

"Consider yourself warned," Blair tells Serena, "nothing good will come from this."

"Give him a chance," Serena advises, and before Blair can make another protest, Serena clicks off.

The flick of a match is heard, and the room is bathed in warm, golden light, Chuck holding up the flashlight to Blair.

"There's no batteries in here," he explains, "and candlelight is far more romant—"

"Chuck Bass isn't a romantic," Blair shoots back, crossing her arms.

"Only with you," Chuck says drily. "But you already knew that."

Blair remains where she was, frowning at the turn of events while Chuck places candles around the room, and even in her state of annoyance, Blair should find the situation rather, well, _romantic._

Shaking her head, Blair tosses the thought from her mind, knowing that state of mind was altogether too troublesome.

"We've got nothing better to do than wait this out," Chuck says plainly, as if he knows the situation sets her on edge. "What do you say to opening presents and Chopin?"

Blair raises her eyebrows in surprise, but she knows that at this point, surprise shouldn't have been necessary.

This was Chuck Bass after all. Only he could find alcohol in Eric van der Woodsen's room.

…

"This was a bad idea," Eric whispers to Serena, keeping a careful eye on Nate, who seems to be edging closer to the pair.

"They'll be fine," Serena placates. "It's not like we locked them up without food and water."

"Well technically, we _did_, Serena," Eric says with a laugh.

"They can get water from the bathroom sink," Serena says with a laugh. Then, remembering an old joke, "Isn't there a bottle of Chopin stashed in your bathroom cabinet?"

Snorting, Eric nods. "I forgot about that. Chuck stashed it there, because, as he told me, you never know when you'll be locked into a room without proper drinks. Or something to that effect."

"Classic Chuck Bass," Serena said with a roll of her eyes, then turning to Nate, "We locked Blair and Chuck into Eric's room."

Nate raises his eyebrows in surprise. "You sure that was a good idea?"

"Serena seems convinced it was," Eric says drily. "But I suppose we'll see if they kill each other before we get the power back on and can find that key."

Nate laughs uneasily, unsure as to why the thought of his ex-girlfriend (she hasn't been that in his mind in a long time, and why the term comes to mind is unknown to him) and best friend locked in a room together makes him anxious.

He supposes it has to do with the fact that Eric is now talking about the candles they must be using as a light source, and how candlelight was not the safest when Chuck and Blair were around.

Leaving Eric and Serena, he makes his way over to Rufus, who is talking amicably with Dan on the couch.

"Rufus," he says, and Rufus looks up in surprise at being addressed by Nate.

"Serena's over there," Nate tells Dan, and the other boy takes the hint, leaving with a raised brown and curious glance over his shoulder.

"I've been meaning to talk to you," Nate beings nervously, clearing his throat. From the inside pocket of his suit he brings out a small box, wrapped in white-and-gold wrapping paper.

"Thanks for the gift, Nate, but I believe you already gave me that tie," Rufus says with a laugh, one that does not affect the other.

"It's for…Jenny," Nate blushes, glad that with the sparse lighting, Rufus cannot see him. "I don't know where she's staying in Hudson, so I was wondering if you could see that this gets to her—"

Rufus looks at Nate's earnest, honest, face, and contemplates for a second. _It couldn't hurt_, he thinks, because he has already exhausted all other options.

"Why don't I give you her mother's address," Rufus says easily, reaching for his phone. "If you have time, you can visit her yourself—"

"I would, but—" Nate cuts himself off, the decorum that had been instilled in him from a young age coming into play.

"She's refusing to see anyone," Rufus finishes with a sigh. "But we're family. You're not. I wouldn't be surprised if she saw you."

"I'll give it a try," Nate said confidently, though he felt anything but.

"They're most likely going to be there for the rest of the week, I'm sure Allison wouldn't mind too much."

"Thanks," Nate says, pocketing the napkin Rufus has written the address on.

"If you see her," Rufus says quietly, "tell her we miss her."

"Alright," Nate consents, and then wanders back to Dan, Serena, and Eric, the former two chiefly ignoring the latter.

Rufus' words stay in his mind for a long while after, and though his response had been brief, Nate couldn't help but take words to heart.

…

"Just open it," Blair says, not wanting to revert back to the ridiculous tradition Chuck had suggested they reinstate.

Chuck looks at her warily, and then carefully peels back the wrapping paper, revealing the slim box. The word is embossed on the box, and upon recognizing the familiar hue of the box, Chuck smirked.

He knew Blair had gotten him a gift, an actual gift, not the atrocious sweater she had pretended to give him.

Lifting the cover gingerly, almost half-expecting to see a scarf to match the sweater, Chuck was instead greeted by a purple-and-gold scarf.

It was ostentatious, nearly bordering on gaudy, and quintessentially Chuck Bass.

In other words, it was perfect.

Running the cashmere wool through his fingers, a memory comes to mind, of a well-worn box, and the scarf that still lay inside.

"I always knew it was you," Chuck says conversationally, and Blair levels him with a frown, pretending that she hasn't a clue what he is talking about.

"The scarf," Chuck clarifies, though it is unnecessary. "My scarf. The one you gave me when we were eight."

"Oh," Blair brushes the memory off easily, but even with the faint glow of candlelight, Chuck can tell she is surprised he remembers.

The room is warm, though not unbearable so, yet Chuck puts the scarf on, surveying himself in the mirror thoughtfully.

"Thank you," he says, and the words sound so metallic, so alien in the silent room. It is almost as if he struggles to form the words, words he has not repeated enough, words he usually cannot bring himself to say.

Blair shrugs off the token of gratitude, though she cannot deny that her heart tugs ever so slightly. "I wasn't going to give it to you."

"Would you have, if I didn't ask?"

"Probably not," Blair admits. "I would have just kept it."

Tilting his head ever so slightly, Chuck smirks. "Purple isn't really your color."

Rolling her eyes, Blair crosses her arms.

"Red is really your color," Chuck offers. "But we both know I prefer you in noth—"

"My present," Blair cuts him off, turning around to disguise the flush of her cheeks. It wouldn't do to mention to Chuck the sordid thoughts now running through her mind.

"If you're so inclined," Chuck nods towards the box on the bed, and Blair picks it up tentatively, as if she was unsure what to do with it.

As if she wasn't sure what reaction this present entailed.

Taking a deep breath, Blair pries open the lid, to reveal a pair of diamond earrings, sparkling in the dull candlelight.

"They match the necklace you're conveniently wearing," Chuck offers needlessly, and the proximity of his voice tips off Blair to his move from the chair to behind her.

Captivated by the earrings, Blair only nods slightly. _This_, she tells herself, s why he'd gone to London. He'd commissioned custom earrings for her—to match a necklace he had no real right to give her in the first place.

It had been a ridiculously ostentatious gift then, and slightly pushing the boundaries of their friendship, not matter what had transpired between them in a limo the night prior.

And the earrings only add to the fact that he is willing to go to any length of trouble for her.

Blair smiles slightly, letting herself touch one of the delicately crafted earrings, which match the flower pendants on her necklace.

"I love them," she breathes, the words falling from her lips unbidden.

Chuck smirks proudly, and Blair smiles, despite herself.

"I suppose it's fortunate that I chose a dress that needed a necklace like this one," Blair muses, and Chuck all but rolls his eyes.

"Drop the act, Blair. We both know you wore the necklace for—"

"For you? Not likely."

Chuck recoils slightly, and Blair instinctually reacts, stepping forward as he steps back.

"Then why?" Chuck challenges, and Blair bites her lip, searching for a response.

"I shouldn't have worn it," she begins, but Chuck cuts her off quickly.

"Then why wear—"

"Let me finish. I shouldn't have worn it because I was angry that you'd left—angrier at myself for letting myself get into the same position. But I think…a small—minuscule, really—part of me wanted things to go back to the way they were before."

"You mean when we were sneaking behind everyone else's back and meeting in darkened hallways?" Chuck asks incredulously.

Blair shakes her head, "No. I mean before all the betrayals. That night you gave me this necklace—you hadn't hurt me before that."

"You hurt me first," Chuck reminds her, though not unkindly. "You got back together with Nate, pretended nothing happened between us."

"Before either of us had hurt each other," Blair amends quietly.

"It doesn't mean we didn't forgive each other," Chuck prompts. "It doesn't mean we can't try—"

"I think I'm done trying," Blair acknowledges. "I'm done being on the sidelines, playing the part of a trophy girlfriend. I'm done being _used_—"

"You forgave me for that," Chuck says darkly. "You said you'd forgiven me for that, and I've apologized in every way I know possible."

"Don't you think," Blair starts, "that we've hurt each other enough? How long until we absolutely _destroy_ each other? We're not good together, Chuck."

"You know we are. You know that we could destroy each other—but when we're together, we're indomitable," Chuck protests fiercely.

"I was with Louis for six months," Blair says, avoiding Chuck's gaze, "and you were right. I was bored. But in those six months, he didn't hurt me. Not once. You can't claim that, can you, Chuck?"

"But you always knew we were inevitable," Chuck counters. "We may have hurt and betrayed each other more times than I can recall. But through it all, we both knew we were inevitable."

Blair regards him with quiet contemplation, and in that moment, Chuck _knows_ that they are not over.

Not even close.

…

"Do you think we should unlock the door?" Eric suggests uneasily.

"Just because we found the key doesn't mean we need to unlock the door," Serena says breezily. "Besides, have _you_ heard anything from upstairs."

"No," Eric says warily. "That's what worries me."

"Blair's incapable of murder," Serena retorts with a roll of her eyes. "I'm sure they're just talking—"

"That's the thing," Eric interrupts, "it's too quiet. I can't tell if they're talking. And if they're _not_ talking, that worries me."

Serena shoots him a look of confusion, "Why?"

Eric wrinkles his nose and decides to drop the subject after a few select words.

"Let's just say you might owe me new sheets. Actually, a new bed in general."

…

"Then where do we go from here?" Blair asks, her tone cheerless, "it's been seven months, and I still cringe at the sound of _her_ name. My stomach still turns at the sight of white-blonde hair, even if most girls don't have her ratty extensions."

Chuck ignores the latter part of the sentence, because he can't deal with this—not right now, when Blair is sitting beside him, her knee touching his and setting his skin aflame.

"You're going to be focused on Columbia when you return," Chuck says thoughtfully. "And I'm going to be concentrating on winning over the board at Bass Industries."

"So we're taking a break…from each other," Blair interprets.

Chuck looks at her, pale in the candlelight, her eyes wide, and nods.

"Temporarily."

And though she'd been fighting the very concept of _them_ earlier, Blair finds herself at odds with the suggestion.

Never before have they agreed to take a break—temporary or otherwise—and the situation was foreign to them both. They haven't ever been friends since that fateful night in the back of his limo.

"I don't think we'd make very good friends," Blair says ruefully.

Chuck shrugs, "I'm sure we can manage for the time being."

At that moment, the lights snap back on, and the room is flooded with a glaringly unwelcome brightness. And in that same moment, something between them is changed. Perhaps it's he loss of the sentimental atmosphere of the candlelight, but the dynamic between them is inexplicably altered.

Standing up awkwardly, Blair holds out her hand to Chuck's.

"Friends?"

"Friends," he agrees, shaking her hand. But when their skin meets, a spark is ignited. Their eyes snap to each other's, and within moments, Blair is kissing him furiously, her hands twining through his hair.

Hands slid, from her waist to lower back, and Blair pushes herself closer, leaving not a breath of air between them as his tongue caressing hers as she sighed quietly.

Moments before a key cleaved through a lock, they hear the footsteps, springing apart and fixing their appearances before Serena and Eric enter.

Eric looks from one to the other, then at his bed, still made, _thank goodness_.

"At least you didn't kill each other," Serena pipes up from behind him.

Eric sees the smallest of glances exchanged between Chuck and Blair, one loaded with an emotion the rest of them can't quite comprehend.

Gathering her things, Blair smiles tightly at Serena as she brushes past, though, surprisingly, no threats involving Serena's beloved Manolos are made.

Chuck is wearing scarf, one both Eric and Serena have never seen before.

And as Chuck makes an exit similar to Blair's, Eric knows exactly who gave him the scarf.

"What do you think went on in here?" Serena asks, turning towards her younger brother.

"I have no clue," Eric replies honestly, moving around the room and extinguishing candles.

"Oh," Serena picks up a sweater, the sweater Blair gave Chuck earlier for Christmas, "Chuck left his sweater behind."

"Something tells me he won't want it back," Eric says wryly, eyes canvassing the truly hideous garment.

"Blair did give it to him," Serena jokes.

"Something tells me she gave him something else instead," Eric says casually, thinking back to the purple-and-gold scarf around Chuck's neck.

"Ew," Serena wrinkles her nose and Eric shakes his head.

Sometimes, he has to wonder if he got all the brains in the family.

* * *

tbc


	10. Chapter 9

**AN: Firstly, apologies for my extended leave from this story. I had finals, and Christmas o/s, and lastly, some negative comments that left me more than a bit angry and deciding to take a break from FF. Which was about the same time I found my muse again, incidentally. No writer's block? A dream. **

**Second, I've decided to split chapter nine into two, so you will be getting a new chapter soon (promise!). **

**Third, I love you all, and your fantastical reviews. Even re-reading them weeks after makes me smile.**

**And finally, thanks to my beta, bethaboo. I don't know what I'd do without her.**

**Lastly - enjoy!

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**

_New Year's Eve_

"Are you sure you're up for this?" Serena continues to press, badgering Blair outside her closet door.

"Yes, Serena," Blair responds in irritation, throwing her closet doors open with a flourish and stepping out in an outfit that looks as though it was borrowed from pre-boarding school Serena.

"You're wearing _that_?" Serena asks in confusion, as Blair straps on four-inch heels.

"Is there something wrong with Marchesa?" Blair shoots back disdainfully, and Serena shakes her head no.

"It's just…that's not a _dress_," Serena tries again, and winces when she realizes that her dress isn't quite a _dress_, either.

"With that…_creation_, on, I wouldn't be one to talk, S," Blair reproaches, and Serena frowns, trying a different tactic.

"It's not what you usually wear," Serena amends.

"No," Blair agrees, looking at Serena over her shoulder as she puts on earrings, ones that Serena has never seen before. They look vaguely familiar, but Serena can't put her finger on it. Until…

Blair clasps a necklace round her neck, the necklace she has been wearing quite a bit lately.

The necklace that matches her earrings.

Satisfied, Blair turns around, mischievous smile on her ruby red lips.

"I'm trying something new."

…

_Five days earlier_

"So how'd things go with Blair?"

Eric takes in the relative cleanliness of the Empire's penthouse suite, the lack of empty scotch bottles, and the deficiency of long-legged models in varying states of undress, and decides that his worries are for naught.

"Fine," Chuck replies shortly, before picking up the sheaf of papers he had been poring over and tucking them into a briefcase.

"Just fine?" Eric prompts, but at Chuck's glare he knows not to press the matter further.

Instead, he switches tact, to something waters Chuck is infinitely more comfortable in.

"What's the newest venture for Bass Industries?" Eric asks, and Chuck's sigh of quiet relief is heard.

"We're opening a new nightclub on New Year's Eve," Chuck explains with a palpable change in demeanor. "But the logistics…"

Eric nods and smiles, knows when to insert a comment in Chuck's ramble, and though it is only the day after Christmas, he knows that Chuck's obsession with work knows no bounds when he and Blair are at odds.

…

"I don't want to talk about it, Serena," Blair says with a sigh, once more perusing the racks of Bergdorf Goodman with ferocious intensity in an attempt to dull the odd pang in her chest. One that she had been well accustomed to but was quite unwelcoming as of late.

"But nothing happened?" Serena implores, blue eyes wide at Blair's constant flippancy.

"Like I've said for the past hour, nothing happened," Blair says in irritation, pausing to shoot Serena a glare.

"This is you and Chuck," Serena pushes, "in a locked room. _Something_ must have happened."

Blair sighs in frustration, and Serena only gives her an innocent look.

"I was under the impression you didn't want to be informed of our sexual exploits," Blair says grudgingly, but the statement has the desired effect upon Serena.

"Ew, Blair!"

"Grow up, S," Blair reprimands lightly, but the conversation was closed for the time being, and her objective had been fulfilled.

Her objective being, to forget Chuck Bass entirely, of course.

…

His phone displays a slew of rather angry texts from his mother, but apart from Anne, Nate hasn't received a single call or text from any of his friends.

It isn't that they are meant to keep tabs on him at every moment, but the silence is disconcerting. Blair and Chuck are off attempting to ignore each other, he supposes, and Eric and Serena were probably being coerced into acting as distractions. If she wasn't with Blair, Nate knows that Serena would most likely be in Dan's company.

The thought doesn't sting as much as it used to, and Nate has to wonder if it's because he's currently sitting in a small yellow cab, a scrap of paper clutched in his fist.

A scrap of paper with Jenny Humphrey's current place of residence written on it in Rufus' sprawling script.

…

"You know classes don't start for another week or so, right?" Serena asks amusedly, watching Blair from the doorway.

"Nine days, S," Blair replies with a roll of her eyes, not looking up from the piles she has meticulously sorted. One for each of her minions, of course.

"And these are?" Serena implores, flopping down beside Blair and crushing one of the piles, which earns her a requisite glare.

"Applications," Blair replies primly. "For internships."

"Internships?" Serena screws up her face in confusion.

"Not all of us have the ability to simply bat our eyelashes and have jobs handed to us," Blair snaps, and Serena colors slightly.

"Sorry," Blair says shortly, noting Serena's embarrassed expression. "I've had a lot on my mind lately."

"I've noticed," Serena remarks. "Do you want to—"

"No," Blair pleads. "I would not like to play patient to your therapist today, S."

"I was just suggesting," Serena says, pouting faux-crossly at Blair.

"I just want…" Blair trails off, because even she isn't sure what she wants. There has never been a situation when she and Chuck were at a stalemate of sorts. They were either together—or they weren't. Which meant that they were scheming together, or scheming against each other, the latter of which is a recipe for disaster.

And Blair is glad to be on amicable terms with Chuck, but the tentative break has proven to be nothing but her denying _them_. Chuck disappeared for six months, and somehow, she found it in herself to forgive him. It's become harder now, she thinks, to envision a future _without_ Chuck.

The very thought scares her. Frightens her, really, because it is so unlike the future she had envisioned with Nate. Because the future she envisioned with Nate had been planned to the very last detail—but with Chuck, Blair couldn't plan. Couldn't plan simply because Chuck would never adhere to the plan.

The six months without Chuck Bass had been nerve-wracking, to say in the least, but at the same time, Blair found herself able to _breathe_ for the first time in months. With Louis she was slightly bored, yes. But she had never, in their five-or-so-months together, been hurt by him. It was that fact—and their current break—that led her to a sole realization.

That she couldn't really bear a future without Chuck Bass.

Serena is still looking at her expectantly, still silently asking what Blair really _wants_ when their phones beep simultaneously.

Blair is the first to open the message—and the corresponding picture.

Serena is the first to gasp aloud, then turns to Blair with wide eyes, noting that the brunette's expression is carefully arranged to display no emotion.

"Blair—"

"I just want Chuck Bass _dead_," she all but snarls.

Serena just shakes her head.

**Gossip Girl here, with a picture that's sure to warm your hearts. Seems **_**C**_** may have gone across the pond for **_**B**_**'s Christmas present, but looks like **_**C**_**'s got a gift that keeps on giving. Victrola, that is. Check out the accompanying pic of C surrounded by what look to be Victrola's, ahem, **_**dancers**_**. Looks like **_**C**_** is back to being the **_**C**_** we know and love. **

…

The Winters' post-holiday gala is by far the most anticipated event after Christmas and before New Year's Eve. It is touted as a benefit for the less fortunate—after the extravagance and opulence of Christmas, the Upper East Side would give back to the community by donating a gift and purchasing a three-thousand-dollar ticket.

As it is, it has become the perfect opportunity to give away gifts that were particularly hated—including, but not limited to, fringed Ralph Lauren skirts that were given as jokes, or thinly veiled insults.

And Blair Waldorf has the perfect present for such a donation.

…

She enters with Serena on her left, removes the fur stole around her shoulders and glances casually about with the smallest of smirks playing on her lips.

Beside her, Serena only notices the dark look on Chuck Bass' face as his eyes zero in on the box in Blair's gloved hand.

Blair has forgone gift boxes and wrap, opting to tie a sumptuous cream bow on the little black box instead. A cream bow that matches the trim on her black, dangerously low-cut—yet not indecently so—gown. Serena, who plays the more conservative side of the spectrum in a floor-length navy blue, had been surprised at her best friend's choice in attire.

Then again, this _is_ Blair Waldorf. A spiteful Blair Waldorf.

"Blair," Serena whispers, noticing the smirks she is sending Chuck's way. "I thought you said you two were taking a…break."

"We are," Blair replies breezily, before shooting a final gloating smirk at Chuck and sauntering off in search of her seat.

Serena meets Chuck's eyes with apprehension, but before she can decipher his dark gaze, he too sets off in search of his seat.

Serena simply closes her eyes and prays that the Winters' hadn't the sick humor to seat Chuck and Blair next to each other.

…

"A lovely necklace, Blair," Joanne Kleinhart exclaims, and Blair touches the filigreed white gold with a reserved smile. "Van Cleef, I presume?"

Blair nods and smiles accordingly, unable to stop her eye from wandering two tables over, to where a pair of dark eyes watch her with unrelenting focus.

"It's stunning," Joanne declares. "Was it a Christmas gift?"

"From my father in France," Blair says through gritted teeth, already beginning to bore of the conversation.

"Lovely," Joanne simpers. "I am so glad you didn't decide to donate that. Donating jewellery is _so_ vulgar."

Blair ignores the pointed barb, directed at the box in front of her, which clearly housed jewellery of some sort

"I'm sure whoever receives these will be delighted," Blair replies tightly. "They _are_ Erickson Beamon after all."

Joanne, clearly taken aback, begins to retract her statement when Blair rises with a polite excusal, leaving Joanne slightly flustered and on the receiving end of a reprimanding stare.

Chuck, whose eyes haven't left Blair—or the giant bow on her donation—makes his own excuses and hastens to follow the brunette out of the room.

…

"Waldorf."

"Bass."

Blair raises an eyebrow at him, as if daring him to ask about the gift she has left at the table.

Chuck Bass has never been one to back down from a dare.

"I couldn't help but notice your gift," he starts, narrowed eyes belying his unruffled tone.

Blair smiles beatifically, "It's the same every year, Bass. The donations are supposed to be generous, but in reality, it's presents we couldn't care less about."

"And you couldn't have chosen to donate Penelope's gift instead?" Chuck nearly growls, his attempt to appear unmoved now completely forgotten.

"That hideous fringed headband? It would be an insult to donate that—the receiver would be horrified. I sent it to Vanessa instead," Blair smirks, and Chuck finds himself unable to suppress the pride in his smirk.

"Besides," Blair continues innocently, "I didn't think you would mind if I donated _your_ gift."

"Wouldn't mind? Waldorf, those earrings cost nearly eight thousand dollars to commission."

"And that's the price of what, one night with an escort? I can't imagine I'd be worth any more than that." Blair's voice has gone from light to steely in an instant, and her playful smirk has turned into a frown.

"If this is about those pictures Gossip Girl sent out—" Chuck sighs in defeat, knowing that his explanation wouldn't be heard.

"Are you going to tell me those are fake?" Blair shoots back, voice now decidedly two decibels too loud. "Or that Gossip Girl somehow got it _wrong_? That there's an explanation?"

"There's an explanation," Chuck says evenly. "But I doubt you'd believe it."

Blair raises an eyebrow. "And you'd be right, Bass. It's hard to believe you when it's been barely a week into our so-called friendship, and you're already fucking half of Victrola's staff."

"I wasn't—"

"If you'll excuse me," Blair says, cutting him off with a turn of her head, pushing the door open and walking inside—shutting it just as quickly.

But not quick enough for Chuck to glimpse inside, and to ensure that there was no one else present in the restroom.

Pushing the door open, Chuck closes it behind him just as quickly, making sure to lock the door before striding up to Blair.

"Has being with illiterate whores lessened your ability to _read_, Bass? This is the ladies' restroom."

"I'm well aware," Chuck replies coolly, meeting her gaze in the mirror. The lipstick she was reapplying is slammed down onto the marble countertop.

Red, he notes.

"Then what—"

But before she has a chance to finish her sentence, Blair finds herself spun around, the marble countertop digging into the small of her back, Chuck inches from her.

"Gossip Girl was wrong," Chuck says quietly, quietly because he is so close, closer than he thought, that he needn't any volume at all.

"I believe her," Blair shoots back. "It's not much of a departure from Chuck Bass."

Chuck shakes his head. "Those girls were Victrola staff—" at this, Blair makes a face, but Chuck continues on "—or more accurately, _potential_ Victrola staff. I don't know who sent the picture to Gossip Girl, but I wasn't there alone. You can ask James—it was a…casting call of sorts."

"And I'm to believe that it was just that?" Blair asks venomously. "Even if you weren't with all those girls, you must have taken at least one back to the Empire. If only to console her because she wasn't chosen."

"No," Chuck whispers, and Blair _feels_ rather than _hears_ the word, because his lips are merely inches from the shell of her ear, and she has to suppress a shudder when he presses a kiss at the base of her jaw.

Smirking, Chuck draws back, and Blair belatedly realizes that his hands are around her waist, impeding any movement.

"You were right, Waldorf," he remarks.

"About what?" she challenges.

"We wouldn't make very good friends."

"No?" Blair says faintly.

"No," Chuck determines. "We're much better at this."

"This?" Blair asks, though she's pretty sure she knows exactly what he is talking about.

"This."

And Chuck proceeds to show her exactly _how_ much better they are at not being friends, mentally patting himself on the back for having the hindsight to lock the door.

The lipstick Blair had previously left on the marble counter is knocked onto the ground as she is hoisted onto the narrow marble counter, black dress hiked up around her waist. A shame, because when she left the restroom half an hour later, her lips are completely bare of lipstick.

Which is probably a blessing, considering Chuck's white collar is rife with ruby red stains.

…

"Thank you, Blair, for your lovely donation," Cara Winters says contemptuously, before looking to Serena, who is beside Blair with a gift of her own.

Blair rolls her eyes, knowing that the snub has more to do with Eleanor's upstaging Cara at their debut decades ago—the tension between the Winters and Waldorfs was well known. The fact that Waldorf came before Winters has always been a bone of contention for Cara, whose date was usurped by one Eleanor Waldorf.

Moving to the side as Serena is fawned over by Cara, Blair catches sight of Chuck, whose eyes are on the bowed gift on a table off to the side.

Meeting his gaze, Blair smiles triumphantly.

* * *

tbc


	11. Chapter 10

**AN: Thanks for the continued love and support:) Apologies the chapter took so long, but my wonderful beta, bethaboo, has marathon-beta-ed all my stuff, and there will be plenty of oneshots, vignettes, and a short story in the near future**. **It's my birthday today, so my present to you is a (long!) chapter of Recollection. Enjoy!**

* * *

_That bitch_, Chuck seethes, pouring himself another finger of scotch and downing it without a second thought.

The black box with its irritatingly large white bow continues to plague his thoughts—disallowing anyone or anything from being in his mind but it, and its spiteful owner. Or former owner, he supposed.

It isn't so much the fact that she gave away an eight-thousand-dollar pair or earrings. He could have another pair commissioned in a heartbeat, could pay the amount without a second glance.

It's more so the fact that she had donated the earrings in the first place, that truly irks him. If she were willing to go to such lengths, he thinks with a frown, he wonders if that meant she was truly done. Truly and completely, unlike all the other times when her eyes hadn't matched her mouth.

The thought is enough to have him forgo the tumbler and take a swig from the bottle itself, eventuallycollapsing into a chair when his legs couldn't hold him up any longer.

…

"Blair."

"No need to sound so patronizing, S. _I'm_ not the one dating someone from _Brooklyn_."

"No," Serena agrees. "You're not. But you _are_ the one who gave up a pair of one-of-a-kind Erickson Beamon earrings simply to spite Chuck."

Blair grins widely. "I did no such thing. I wasn't even aware you knew about the earrings, S."

"I saw the box, Blair. And I heard your conversation with—"

"Trust me, S," Blair said with a winning smile, "everything is exactly as it should be."

…

_New Year's Eve_

It takes the last holiday—and perhaps his favorite—of the year, to pull him out of the self-induced alcohol binge he's been on.

Eric shakes his head lightly at the scene in front of him, but secretly, he is just glad Chuck stayed in New York this time.

"C'mon, man," he says, hauling Chuck up by his shoulders, "you've got that nightclub opening tonight. You know, the one you've been working yourself to the ground over the past few days. When did you suddenly forget about it?"

"When Blair—" but the slur is interrupted as Chuck pitches forward, grabbing the toilet and dry heaving into it.

Eric wrinkles his nose at the sound, wondering how Blair had, once again, reduced Chuck Bass to _this_.

She is the only one who could, he supposes.

…

"Are you going to Chuck's opening tonight?" Serena ventures at breakfast, her words almost tentative.

"Chuck's opening?" Blair raises her eyebrows, as if she were hearing about this for the first time.

"You know, Blair. The one that he's been planning for—"

"I _know_, S. I just hadn't realized anyone was expecting me to go," Blair snaps.

Serena frowns, "I don't know what happened between you and Chuck, but those pictures—"

"Were misinterpreted, I know," Blair waves her hand and pops another blackberry into her mouth. Pursing her lips and tilting her head to the side, she regards Serena with a smile.

"Actually, S, I think I _will_ be going to Chuck's opening tonight."

Serena catches her friend's smirk, and simply shakes her head, "Will you be bringing some ridiculously boring plus-one to make Chuck jealous?"

Blair laughs, "Of course not, S. Unless you have a suggestion?"

…

"Really, Serena?"

Serena reminds herself to stop staring at Blair's ears, and plasters a smile to her glossed lips, shrugging innocently at Blair. "They're gorgeous, B."

"I know," Blair said with a gloating sigh.

"No wonder you didn't donate them," Serena blurts out, unable to help herself.

Blair's look is steely, but she merely turns her head, and a passing streetlight reflects off the Erickson Beamons in her ears.

"Actually," Serena continues, knowing that she could never stop once she started, "what _did_ you donate, B?"

Blair looks at her warily, and Serena continues to smile as though she hasn't a clue what is going on.

I don't give her enough credit, Blair thinks with an outward sigh.

"Erickson Beamon earrings one of my mother's friends gifted to me for my birthday," Blair says reluctantly.

"The ones that looked like costume jewellery and you claimed you'd sent to Vanessa?" Serena asks, confused.

And sometimes, Blair thinks wryly, she gives Serena _too much_ credit.

"I sent her Penelope's gift instead," Blair says with a delicate shudder. "Really, why I even _bothered _to send her something is beyond me, but—"

"Oh, B," Serena sighs in defeat. "I wouldn't want to have you as an enemy."

They both wince simultaneously, remembering times when Serena _had_ been Blair's enemy. But the small, genuine, smile that Blair gives her is reassurance that it is water under the bridge.

"I'm guessing Chuck donated that hideous sweater I gave him," Blair remarks, settling back into her seat. The leather is cool against her bare thighs, and Blair is suddenly hit with an unwelcome reminder of another limo, another night, one so many years ago it shouldn't bother her.

Shaking off the memory, she concentrates on Serena's words instead.

"You gave it to him, B. I'm sure he wouldn't have," Serena is saying, and the insinuation in her words is clear.

"I gave it to him as an _insult_," Blair counters. "His real gift is that scarf you've seen him wearing lately. Besides, I didn't _really_ donate his gift. I donated Jenna Bearman's."

"But you made him think you donated his gift," Serena presses. "And you have no clue how successful you were, B."

"Provided he doesn't show up with two of Victrola's dancers by his side, he won't think that after tonight," Blair reasons.

"And if he does show up with two of Victrola's dancers?" Serena asks, almost afraid at the answer.

"Then he'll _wish_ I donated the earrings," Blair replies with a winning smile.

Serena returns the smile half-heartedly, leaning back in her seat and wondering if Dan has received an invite to tonight's party.

…

The party is in full swing when Chuck makes his entrance. And Blair, who is no stranger to catering companies and florists, has to admit she is impressed.

The club is decorated almost entirely in white—white tiled floors leading onto a white dance floor, cream leather banquettes and stools, and a silver topped bar—which make the flashing lights all the more alluring. The drinks are passed around and laughter is heard from nearly every corner of the room, all mixed together with a driving beat that has even Blair Waldorf tapping her Manolo-clad foot.

But when Chuck makes his entrance, Blair kicks herself mentally for jinxing the night.

Because her prediction has, in fact, come true. And there stood Chuck Bass, a blonde on each arm, smirking as he takes in his surroundings.

Bringing up the rear is Eric, who, looking worse for wear, manages a half-smile before disappearing into the crowd.

Leaving one Chuck Bass to lock eyes with an irate Blair Waldorf, seething in a dark navy dress that hugs her every curve and leaves almost nothing to the imagination.

…

"This _cannot_ be good," Serena groans, and Eric, who has just found his sister shortly after arriving, raises an eyebrow.

"What can't be good?" he inquires, following Serena's line of sight.

"Oh."

"Yeah," Serena sighs, "I didn't actually think Chuck would show up with two girls, from Victrola or not."

Eric winces slightly, and Serena catches sight of it, even in the club's dark interior.

"Eric," she begins dangerously, and her younger brother surrenders almost immediately.

"Chuck hasn't been himself lately," Eric defends. "And I knew he needed to be here tonight. If that was the motivation to get him here, well, let's just say I wasn't about to let Chuck drown in his own vomit on New Year's."

"This is _your_ fault?" Serena nearly screeches, and Eric attempts a smile.

"I thought it would help him," Eric sighs, realizing that perhaps this has not been one of his smartest schemes. "You know, remind him who he was before—"

"Before Blair made him become an actual human being?" Serena asks wryly, and Eric blushes slightly, bowing his head.

"This probably wasn't one of the best ideas," Eric admits. "But I didn't know Blair would be here, I swear. If anything, I thought she'd be anywhere _but_ here."

"That one was my fault," Serena admits. "If it weren't for me, Blair probably _wouldn't_ be here. She did mention that party one of the Hamilton House girls was hosting."

"I guess we can both take the blame," Eric says, and Serena nods as they both turn their gazes back to Chuck and Blair.

In the short amount of time they utilized to discuss exactly how their less-than-stellar machinations fell short, Chuck has divested himself of both girls—a feat, Serena thinks—and Blair has somehow gotten herself a drink…and a guy.

"There could be blood," Serena observes.

"We probably shouldn't involve ourselves any further," Eric suggests.

"Best idea of the night, little brother."

…

She didn't donate them.

When he first caught sight of her, he had noticed the dress, first—or rather, the lack of dress. His next move had been to glare at anywhere in their vicinity who was practically salivating in Blair's direction.

He had noticed her glare, right after that.

He deserves that, he supposes.

And when he finally (really, what had taken him so long?) noticed the earrings she wore, he wastes no time in ridding himself of the simpering blondes (they were beginning to irritate him, anyways).

She didn't donate them, he thinks, but it's too late when she turns on her heel, acting as unaffected as possible while still managing to convey that she isn't happy.

It doesn't stop him from going after her.

(He always knew her better than she knew herself.)

…

Chuck smirks as the guy makes his excuses quickly, departing before Blair has a chance to get a word in.

This guy, he thinks, has at least _some_ sense. He isn't intelligent enough to realize that he doesn't have a remote chance with Blair—but clearly intelligent enough to realize that Chuck sliding an arm around Blair's waist and glaring at him is an invitation for him to scamper.

"Nice choice in jewellery tonight, Waldorf," he breathes into her ear, smirking when he feels her shudder slightly. "I must say, you had me thoroughly fooled. I didn't think for a moment that you hadn't donated those earrings."

"I should have," Blair retorts, attempting to sidestep him. But Chuck, who has had far too much experience in this, merely stills her movements, pushing her up against the bar and blocking any possible form of escape.

She glares at him. Typical.

"I, for one, am glad you didn't," Chuck says with a smirk.

"I wasn't convinced then, I'm not convinced now," Blair volleys back. "Don't worry, Bass. I'm sure eight-thousand-dollars isn't _too_ much of a blow to your coffers. There's plenty left over to pay those two for the night, at least."

"_They_," Chuck enunciates, "weren't my idea. They were Eric's, if you'll believe that."

"I don't," Blair says in astonishment.

"Trust me," Chuck says ruefully. "I didn't at first, either. But it appears I've been a good influence on the littlest van der Woodsen. And as for the cost," Blair cringes at the smirk he now wears, "it was of little consequence—"

"Of course, I was only worth less than a _hotel_," Blair mutters, and Chuck ignores the barb.

"—because your ring cost approximately seven times as much. And if I hadn't found it, I wouldn't have objected to buying another."

The ring.

The moment the word _ring_ leaves his lips, Blair knows she is in trouble. Because when she had rare moments of clarity—that was, clarity from denial—she could admit that Chuck knew her better than she knew herself.

And the Basstard knew exactly how to get her to stop fighting him—_them_.

…

Nate Archibald is no stranger to New Year's parties. He has been attending them since he managed to stay up past twelve at nine years old.

The parties went from innocent - the kids shoved in a room together while the parents gossiped and drank behind outside - to something a little more scandalous in eighth grade. Chuck had introduced Nate to his older set of friends, the ones that went to St. Jude's Upper School, and hung around the school's entrance, almost always surrounded by the oddest almost sweet smelling haze.

Nate remembers throwing up the contents of his stomach in one of the Palace's suites - he remembers Chuck's smirk and laughter, the noise and the lights of the party.

He remembers feeling free.

It is a feeling not too common in the Upper East Side, least of all when your last name is Archibald and your mother's connections with the Vanderbilts mean an imposing legacy to live up to.

Nate remembers Jenny. Jenny before the Upper East Side ruined her. Jenny who, for the second time in his life, truly made him feel _free_ again.

He's never been known for his decision-making, never been known for his stellar morals. But Nate Archibald knows, at this very moment, at a random New Year's Eve party in Hudson, three doors down from Jenny Humphrey, that he is doing the right thing.

The party, he thinks with a small smile, is nothing compared to the grandeur of the Upper East Side.

Instead of Krug and Dom, there is a solitary bottle of champagne, and the rest of the room is littered in beer bottles.

It brings a smile to his lips, having always preferred a beer to champagne. Or wine, which he absolutely despised.

But he is not here for the revelry or the celebrations. He's here for a sole reason, and though his actions could technically be construed as illegal, Nate doesn't care.

Nate navigates through the crowds easily, hoping that no one would recognize him, or worse, throw him out. Sticking to the walls, to the shadows, Nate nods familiarly at those around him, pretending that he fits in.

It isn't so much pretending, as Nate finds himself more open, more relaxed, in this atmosphere than he ever has in Manhattan. Even if he hasn't spoken a single word to anyone, Nate can tell that there are no whispering, gossiping society matrons to please, and no expectations to live up to.

Reaching what he hopes to be the bedroom, Nate looks around quickly before slipping inside, closing the door shut and quickly locking it.

The room is the right room—and completely deserted—much to his relief.

The search begins quickly, but he is only two minutes into his pursuit when the doorknob turns. Thinking quickly, Nate looks around—but the lack of a proper bed frame and closet means that there is no place to hide.

"Sorry, room's off-limits," the guy says with a quick smile, but his eyes alight upon the small mess created by Nate in his search. "What the hell, man?"

"I—"

"Wait," Kenny, the dog walker, narrows his eyes, advancing on Nate and closing the door shut behind him. "I don't know you."

"We met the other day," Nate says quickly. "Remember, outside the Humph—"

"I meant I don't know you as a friend," Kenny says with a roll of his eyes. "Yeah, I remember that. For Christs' sake, I thought you were some jealous boyfriend or something, the way you were—"

"Ex-boyfriend," Nate mutters under his breath, remembering the exchange with a wince. He had arrived at Alison Humphrey's relatively humble residence, duffel bag still in the waiting taxi as he knocked, holding his breath.

When he had mentioned his name and how he knew Jenny—_"I'm a…friend of hers from New York"_—he had been promptly turned away. The same continued for the next few days. Nate hasn't even seen Jenny once, only talked to her mother, Alison, who fiercely protected her daughter.

But Nate isn't about to give up this easily. He had run into Kenny exiting Jenny's home one day, and admittedly, began a stream of over-possessive questions, thinking that Kenny was Jenny's new boyfriend. Instead, Kenny had been the dog walker for Alison's dog, Argus. They had parted amicably, and Nate had realized that Kenny had a key to Jenny's place.

He had supposed that Alison was keeping Jenny from him. That Jenny had no knowledge of his presence in Hudson. And, determined to at least see her once, Nate had found out about Kenny's party, and formed a plan.

Not a very good plan, he thinks, wondering how Kenny had gotten the locked door open.

"What are you doing here?" Kenny asks suspiciously. "And in my _room_?"

"I was looking for your keys," Nate admits sheepishly—then quickly realizes why Chuck and Blair had never allowed him to be privy to their schemes. "You'll tell everyone on accident and just _ruin_ the entire thing, Nate," Blair would explain patiently.

"My keys?" Kenny asks, confused.

"To the Humphrey's," Nate clarifies. "I need to see Jenny, and I—"

"Wait," Kenny's eyes narrow further, and his expression hardens. "You're not the _guy_, are you?"

"Err," Nate says, shooting a confused look in Kenny's direction. "Which guy?"

Kenny's eyes widen considerably, then he shakes his head. "You don't even know, do you?"

"Know what?" Nate asks, beginning to get irritated by the other man's taciturn way of speaking.

Kenny shakes his head again. "I don't want to be the one to tell you, man. But I'll give you my key - I just need it back tomorrow before three."

Kenny turns to rummage through a side drawer, and Nate frowns, mind reeling over the past conversation.

"I don't know what you're—"

"Trust me, man," Kenny says sympathetically, "you'll want to know. Go see Jenny. Everyone else is out for the night anyways."

"Won't Jenny be out as well?" Nate asks in confusion. He had been hoping, at first, that he would encounter Jenny at the party. It would save him a lot of trouble.

Kenny shakes his head. "Just go."

Nate, always accustomed to following orders, turns towards the door, but not without a parting, "Thank you."

Kenny looks at him pityingly, simply nodding and telling Nate that he needs the key back by three.

…

"Dan!"

"Serena," Dan says with a smile. "And Eric."

"Dan," Eric greets with a smile. "Don't take this the wrong way, but we didn't think you'd be here."

Dan shrugs. "Apparently I'm deep enough to the Upper East Side clique that I get invited to these things now."

"Chuck's hosting," Serena says with a laugh.

"And I suppose someone else was in charge of the invites, or Chuck somehow suffered from a head injury," Dan replies easily.

"Probably the first," Eric says ruefully, remembering Chuck's state of incapableness the past few days.

"Where _is_ Chuck?" Dan inquires, and off Eric and Serena's matching looks of confusion, "I'm curious, is all. Gossip Girl mentioned that he and Blair—"

"Are either having sex in the back room or killing each other," Eric says dryly, which causes both Dan and Serena to wrinkle their noses.

"They had a bit of a…disagreement," Serena mentions. "You know Chuck and Blair."

"There's always something going on between them," Dan agrees with a sigh. "And sometimes, other people become collateral dama—"

"Dan," Serena admonishes. "I thought you said you've gotten over that."

"I never said I'd gotten over it," Dan argues. "Simply that I wouldn't hold it against Blair anymore. But Jenny—"

"Jenny is in Hudson," Serena says firmly. "And it's for the best."

"I just haven't seen her in so long," Dan says quietly, and Serena's natural sympathetic instinct kicks in, and she slips a hand into Dan's, squeezing his lightly.

"Nate's in Hudson too," Eric pipes up, completely out of the blue.

"What?" Dan and Serena's gazes snap from each other to Eric, both wearing matching expressions of shock.

Eric shrugs. "Apparently no one's noticed his absence but me. I went to the Empire to visit Chuck, and wanted to ask Nate something. His text said that he was in Hudson."

"Hudson?" Dan repeats in confusion. "But…why?"

"I'm going to go out on a limb here and say Jenny," Eric says drily.

"But how would he even know where she lives?" Dan says with a frown.

"Rufus, I suppose. He hasn't said anything to you?" Serena finally speaks up, looking thoughtful. She had once thought Nate hers, but as she stood here, hand clasped in Dan's, she couldn't help but wonder if there was a possibility of a future between him and Jenny.

"Nothing," Dan says in amazement. "He wouldn't forget something like this…he must have kept it from me intentionally."

Serena nods, "Dan, Jenny has been refusing to see both you and your dad. Maybe she'll see Nate. She hasn't talked to him in nine months or so."

"But I'm her _brother_," Dan says, hurt.

"And Nate will be good for her," Serena says firmly. "And it's New Year's Eve. We're here to have fun, not throw a pity party in Jenny's honor."

Dan agrees, and Serena flashes him a winning smile, dragging him onto the crowded dance floor.

Noticing the glances between Dan and Serena, Eric rolls his eyes, makes his excuses, and heads to the bar, hoping that Blair and Chuck won't notice him.

…

"Serena!" Blair exclaims, exasperated after escaping Chuck and chasing down what seemed like a million long-legged blondes, only to realize that they _weren't_ Serena. "We're leaving."

The blonde giggles slightly, and Blair turns her glare to the boy by her side—the one looking at Blair helplessly. This—coupled with Serena tugging on her hand and begging her to dance—notifies Blair to the fact Serena is drunk. Though, oddly enough, Blair can't remember Serena having much to drink.

"Really, S?" Blair says disdainfully.

"She's not drunk," Dan is quick to interject. "But I do think someone slipped something into her drink."

Blair's glare has increased tenfold, directed entirely at Dan.

"She won't let me take her home," Dan says quickly.

"And _how_ did someone manage to slip something into Serena's drink?" Blair asks angrily. "You were with her the entire time, Humphrey."

"I had to go to the restroom," Dan defends himself. "And I was with her the rest of the time—which is how I know she's had maybe four drinks, total?"

Blair continues to glare at Dan, while holding back a squirming Serena. "You, Humphrey, are useless."

"Duly noted," Dan says with a roll of his eyes.

"You couldn't even get her _home_," Blair seethes. She glances quickly at the numbers projected onto a white wall - she has an hour and a half. Hardly enough time to make it _anywhere_ in New York, least of all on New Year's Eve.

And so it is with great reluctance that she glances around for Chuck, hoping against all hope that he hasn't lost his stalker-like tendencies.

He hasn't, she thinks with a relieved smile, before walking towards him, dragging Serena along with her.

Dan trails behind them, and when they approach Chuck, with his requisite scotch, they are greeted with a look of confusion.

"S managed to get herself drugged, Cabbage Patch here couldn't even manage to get her away from the bar, and we need your help," Blair manages to say in one breath.

Chuck shoots Dan another look of distaste, but Serena, who has begun humming some unknown song, is clearly in need of more attention than Dan Humphrey.

"There's a couch in the office," Chuck says with a wary glance at Serena. "She can sleep it off there."

Blair wrinkles her nose. "Do we have another option?"

"We're in a club, Waldorf," Chuck states drily.

"The fact that we're yelling over music is testament to that," Blair shoots back. "But is there anywhere else besides the _couch_ in _your_ office?"

"I haven't slept with anyone on that couch, if that's what you're insinuating," Chuck says flatly.

"You can never be too sure," Blair says with a roll of her eyes. "You _are_ Chuck Bass."

"And I don't mix business with pleasure," he shoots back. "You know this, Waldorf."

Blair raises an eyebrow, but says nothing, only motioning for Chuck to lead the way.

…

"S," Blair deposits her on the couch, and Serena immediately curls up to the side, head dropping contentedly on the armrest.

"I'm so tired," Serena yawns, stretching her fingertips to the ceiling and nearly slapping Blair in the process. She drops her arms to her sides dramatically, and looks expectantly up at the rest of the group.

"Should we call an ambulance?" Dan worries, and Blair rolls her eyes.

"It's New Year's Eve, Humphrey. Even if we did call right now, they would take forever getting here."

"But—"

"It's nothing serious," Chuck interjects. When Dan shoots him an awestruck look, he is quick to amend his statement. "Serena hasn't been slipped roofies, or E, I can tell."

Dan's eyebrows raise higher, and Chuck rolls his eyes. "Not from personal experience, if that's what you're suggesting."

"Then how do you know?" Dan challenges, and Chuck merely shrugs.

"The best we can do right now," Blair interrupts, shooting glares at both Chuck and Dan, "is give her charcoal."

"Charcoal?" Dan screws his nose up, and Blair sighs.

"You didn't know Serena at the height of her days with Georgina," Blair says quietly. "This is nothing compared to what she used to be like, Humphrey. There were times when I—I had to call an ambulance, then pay the hospital bills so Lily wouldn't find out. Charcoal helps get rid of the drugs."

Chuck nods in agreement, and he and Blair share a somber glance. A glance that Dan notices, one he interprets quite well.

They know Serena better than he does.

"There's some charcoal in a storeroom," Chuck says, breaking the moment and glancing towards Serena. "I'll get it."

He turns to go through his drawers, in search of the keys, presumably. After five silent minutes—silent except for Serena's humming—Blair, irritated, tells him that the manager will surely have the key.

Chuck relents, turning towards the door when Serena interrupts once more, "And a fluffy pillow!" Serena interjects, grinning crazily at them.

Blair looks at Serena with pity, and Chuck merely smirks before turning towards the door again.

"Oh, and B?" Serena pipes up, just as Chuck turns the doorknob.

They both turn to Serena.

"Go with Chuck," Serena says with a pout. "I only want Dan."

"But—" Blair is quick to protest, but Serena looks at her imploringly, and Blair knows that in this state, arguing with Serena is futile.

"Fine," she grumbles, and Chuck opens the door, Blair storming out of it. Before closing the door behind them, he turns back once, to give Serena a strange look.

…

Once the door closed, Serena sat up, tiptoeing to Chuck's desk and rifling through the drawers quietly.

"Serena, what—"

"Shh," she admonishes, her voice at a normal pitch. Dan narrows his eyes, and Serena tilts her head towards the door.

"What in the—"

"_Shh_," Serena repeats.

Dan shuts up, sitting back and watching as Serena rummages through the contents of Chuck's desk.

"Found it!" Serena says gleefully, pulling out a key labeled _Storeroom_.

"Serena, what is goin—"

"No time to explain," Serena says quickly, pressing the key into Dan's hand. "I need you to follow them. Quietly. They'll have the wrong key, and when they realize that, approach them with the right key and open the door. Lock the door behind them when they go inside."

"But the—"

"I've talked to the manager," Serena says, a note of pride in her voice. "He'll be difficult to find, so I managed to buy us some time. He'll give them the key, but it'll be the wrong key."

"Wouldn't it be easier to just have the _manager_ lock them up?" Dan asks skeptically.

Serena shakes her head, "It was hard enough to convince him to give them the wrong key. He thinks Chuck will fire him on the spot if he locks him in. He's probably right."

"So you're giving me the dirty work instead," Dan says wryly.

"I figured Chuck already hates you," Serena says, a note of mirth in her voice.

Dan rolls his eyes, but turns to the door. "And why couldn't you do this?"

"I'm supposed to be drugged, remember?"

"You concocted this entire plan," Dan begins slowly, finally catching on, "including acting as though you'd been drugged, to lock Chuck and Blair in a _storeroom_?"

Serena shrugs modestly.

"It's the only thing that seems to work with those two."

…

_Only Serena_, Dan thinks wryly, while sneaking behind Chuck and Blair, who have procured the (wrong) key from the (shaking) manager. Dan was surprised Chuck hadn't fired the manager on the spot, as the man was both stuttering and tripping over his words out of nervousness—and staring pointedly at Blair.

_Only Serena_ would concoct a scheme this extreme—pretending to be drugged, though Dan had thought her acting had been oddly realistic. It further deepened the thought that had been in his mind since he had started dating Serena, all those years ago. He didn't know her as well as they—Chuck, Blair, and _Nate_—ever would. Her past seems to reveal itself to him in bits and pieces, unveiled only at Serena's convenience. There are still things about her that he doesn't know—things about her he isn't quite sure he _wanted_ to know.

Dan shakes the thought from his mind as he presses his back flat against the corner, Chuck and Blair's voice clearly heard from a few feet away.

"…incompetent, bumbling fool, I'll fire him—"

"That's not the point, Chuck. We need to—"

"—get the key, I know."

Chuck's voice is resigned, as if the thought of going back to the manager causes him physical pain. Dan guesses that the way the man had been practically leering at Blair—but somehow simultaneously cowering under Chuck's fierce glare—causes Chuck physical pain.

Dan backtracks quickly, then sprints ahead, reaching Chuck and Blair in a matter of seconds, both of whom looked at him in confusion and (as per usual) distaste.

"Cabbage Patch, I thought I told you to—"

"I found the key," Dan pants, taking deep breaths for effect. Blair looks at him oddly, as if his acting isn't quite convincing her. "I thought you might—"

"Well Humphrey," Blair says, plucking the key from his outstretched hand, "you've proved yourself useful, for once."

Dan grabs the key back quickly, and Blair frowns at him, opening her mouth to say something—an insult, most likely.

But Dan is faster, quickly unlocking the door and ushering both Chuck and Blair in, who step inside after glancing at Dan as though he were insane.

Considering his actions, Dan isn't surprised if they thought he _were_ insane.

Once they are both inside, Dan yanks the doorknob to him as quickly as possible, hoping that they wouldn't notice.

But a four-inch, bejeweled black platform finds its way in between the door frame and the door, quickly twisting to wrench the doorknob from Dan's grasp.

And the door swings open, revealing a livid Blair Waldorf.

"What the _hell_, Humphrey?" she nearly screeches, and behind her, Chuck looks trapped between two emotions. Anger—at Dan for attempting to lock them in. And regret—at not _being_ locked in, Dan supposes.

"I—"

But before he can explain, Blair's eyes light up in understanding.

"_Serena_," she breathes, and Dan doesn't think he's ever heard a name said with such wrath.

"She isn't—"

"Drugged, I know _now_," Blair says in annoyance.

"Then she only acted that way so—"

"—she could lock us together again," Blair finishes Chuck's sentence, narrowing her eyes.

The mere fact that they finish each other's sentences is somehow hilarious to Dan.

"I can't believe it," Blair says, sagging against the doorframe. "After what happened the last time—"

"We didn't kill each other," Chuck points out. "We ended the night on amicable terms."

"Which didn't last very long," Blair says with a roll of her eyes.

"I told you," Chuck says quietly, his voice so low that Dan has to strain to hear. Which reminds him that he _isn't_ privy to this conversation. But it is so beguiling, the enigma that is Chuck and Blair, that Dan remains rooted to his spot.

"We can't be friends, I know," Blair sighs. "Then what are we, Chuck?"

Chuck begins to respond, but then catches sight of Dan—who is still watching them.

Narrowing his eyes, Chuck smirks at Blair. "_We're_ going to outwit Serena."

"That's not difficult," Blair says with a shrug, also looking at Dan with a frown. He's willing to bet the loft that Blair is angry with him because she wanted to hear Chuck's answer.

"She did manage to get you both in a locked room once," Dan points out.

"Only because we _wanted_ to be in there," Blair shoots back, the words out of her mouth before she can even fully contemplate the enormity of the sentence.

Chuck, on the other hand, understands the magnitude exactly.

"I knew _I_ wanted to be in there Waldorf, but the fact that you were—"

"That was said for Dan's benefit," Blair says quickly. "In any case, we don't have time for this. We need a plan. And I suppose Humphrey is going to help us."

"I'm not—"

"You just tried to lock us in a _storeroom_, Humphrey. And scuffed my new Giuseppe Zanottis. You owe me fourteen hundred dollars. Or a favor," Blair smirks triumphantly. "And considering the state of your state of affairs, I'd say you're more inclined to do the favor."

Dan nods reluctantly, but berates himself in the back of his mind for allowing himself to get sucked into this.

…

"Put this on," Chuck says quickly, and in the darkened hallway, Blair _feels_ rather than _sees_ the cold metal of a diamond pressed into her palm.

Her breath catches in her throat.

"We didn't have nearly enough time to take the Bass jet to Vegas," Blair whispers back.

But her fingers close around the diamond.

And Chuck smirks.

"But I did propose."

"And I said yes?" Blair challenges.

Another smirk. "After some persuasion."

Blair checks her phone casually, hoping the light from the screen doesn't highlight the blush in her cheeks.

"It's only been a half hour," Blair argues.

Chuck doesn't reply—but his smirk does grow as Dan opens the door cautiously.

Blair slips the ring onto her finger, and rolls her eyes as Chuck grabs her right hand, twining his fingers through hers.

_This is pretend_, she tells herself. _A scheme._

But it doesn't feel like pretend.

"What took you guys so long?" Serena's irritatingly high voice is grating, Blair decides. She is tempted to tell her to drop the act, but doing so would ruin their entire plan.

"Someone locked us in a storeroom," Blair says, and the ire in her voice is most definitely _not_ false. Turning to Chuck with a smirk, "Isn't that getting a bit old?"

Serena looks taken aback for a second, then shakes her head adamantly, blond hair flying about.

"I didn't do anything!" she protests, not unlike a child. "I was here the whole time."

"Well I suppose we do have to thank whoever it was," Chuck cuts in smoothly, nodding towards Blair.

With a weak smile, Blair holds up her left hand.

Serena's gasp is most definitely _real._

"Wha—"

"I never thought I'd be proposed to in a _storeroom_," Blair says wryly.

"Bla—"

"And the rest of the time we were stuck in there," Blair continues, a malevolent glint in her eye, "well after the—"

"We don't need details," Dan cuts in quickly, wrinkling his nose.

"You could do well with some pointers, Humphrey," Chuck tosses back.

Dan only sighs in defeat, sitting back in his seat.

"I _was_ going to say proposal," Blair trills. "But now that you mention it—"

Both Dan and Serena clap their hands wrinkle their noses simultaneously.

"In any case," Blair shrugs, "we're getting married in a month, S! I would love for you to be my maid-of-honor. And if you don't remember this in the morning, I'll ask you again."

Blair's smile is sugary sweet - Serena's is pained, and Dan's is pitying.

Chuck is merely smirking.

"I'm thinking at the Palace," Blair continues, a dreamy look in her eye. "The Empire just isn't as…memorable."

"And we'll need to call the caterers," Blair instructs. "I want a specific menu, and it'll take a while to pinpoint. The florists, too. I want fresh calla lilies and peonies—centerpieces will need to be determined. And oh! I need to call my mother, she'll have someone to recommend for a dress. I was thinking Lhuillier, what do you think, S?"

Blair's voice is nearing manic, and Dan himself has to admit that he is a little bit afraid. And a tiny bit glad that he would never (it isn't even in the realm of possible) have to marry Blair Waldorf.

Chuck's expression is calm, but the terror is clear—even if this is just a scheme.

"And we'll need to pick a place for our honeymoon," Blair says, turning to Chuck with a smirk. "You'll need to take at least two weeks off, darling."

Dan furrows his brow. He doesn't believe he has ever heard Blair utter the word _darling_.

Neither has Chuck apparently, who pulls Blair closer to him and says, "Of course, _sweetie_."

The last word is clearly used as a counter to Blair's sentiment, and they glare daggers at each other, before turning to an awestruck Serena with innocent smiles.

"But you—you're—B, you're only twenty!"

Blair frowns, looking over at Serena in faux-surprise. "S?"

"I understand Chuck is crazy and _would_ propose to you in a storeroom," Serena says, shaking her head, "but I never thought you would _accept_. After all he's done to you?"

"Serena?" Blair says innocently, eyes wide. "Aren't you supposed to be…."

Serena frowns, knowing that something is wrong. After nearly fifteen years of friendship, Serena can tell when Blair is lying—somewhat. It still perplexes her as to how Chuck and Blair could communicate with a single glance, something no one else can understand.

"I'm not drugged," Serena says warily. "And I asked Dan to lock you both in the storeroom—"

Chuck snorts, "Isn't that getting a bit old, S?"

"It worked last time," Serena shoots back. "I never—" her voice falters for a moment. "I never thought you would get _engaged_."

"I was planning to propose on the Empire State building," Chuck points out, and Blair winces at the memory.

"But B," Serena pleads. "You were so ready to _kill_ Chuck five minutes ago."

"I thought the point of locking us in the storeroom was so we'd stop fighting," Blair points out coolly. "Not so we'd hate each other more."

"The point was to get you both to stop fighting," Serena says helplessly. "But not for you to get _engaged_."

Chuck and Blair share a smirk, and the latter looks at the ring on her left hand, thinking sadly that it would be a shame to have to take it off later.

Serena, who notices the smirk, grimaces slightly. "Wait—you two—"

"Aren't engaged," Blair says with a smirk. "And probably will never be."

The last statement catches Chuck off guard, but he covers it quickly, nodding to affirm Blair's statement.

"You can't pull the same trick on us twice," he tells Serena. "A storeroom, really, S? Its only redeeming quality would be the scotch I had Wesley stash there."

Blair rolls her eyes.

"Somehow, I can't say I'm surprised," she says drily.

"You know me well, Waldorf."

Blair brushes off the statement quickly, leveling Serena with a patented glare.

"S," she says slowly, deliberately.

"B," Serena says innocently.

Blair narrows her eyes. "You should've known better than to scheme against _us_," turning to Chuck with a smirk, "What do you think our count is?"

"Us, a million, the world, zero," he replies easily.

Blair tilts her head to the side, and Dan, sitting awkwardly off to the side—an intruder in the conversation, it seems—notes the glance they share.

Blair breaks the look first, glancing at the clock, her eyes widening slightly. "It's fifteen minutes till midnight."

Serena glances around the room—at Dan, beside her, and at Chuck and Blair, both leaning on opposite ends of Chuck's desk.

"I don't suppose we'll be ringing the New Year in here?" Serena says with a nervous laugh. The atmosphere in the room has changed considerably, with Chuck watching—or rather, scrutinizing her every move—Blair, and Blair studiously avoiding his gaze. Serena smiles weakly at Dan, who, once again, asks himself how exactly he got sucked into this mess.

"I suppose I better find David, then," Blair says quickly. Chuck narrows his eyes.

"Who's David?"

"He bought me a drink," Blair says flippantly, a smirk evident in her voice.

"I believe his name was Tyler," Serena interjects, earning herself a pointed glare from Blair. "Or Josh. Or Hunter. Or maybe Liam? I don't think you've met any Davids tonight."

"_You_ were too busy playing someone who got drugged," Blair points out.

"I wasn't _actually_ drugged," Serena reasons. "Besides, you two didn't even think it was that serious. I was expecting an ambulance, but I am glad you decided not to call one."

"Unlike you, S," Chuck says with a roll of his eyes, "we actually think ahead. Calling an ambulance would have been a disaster. You were fine."

Turning to Blair, his expression is decidedly composed, smoothly hiding any trace of emotion.

"It's ten minutes to midnight," he tells her, eyes daring her to leave. "There are hundreds of people out there, if you want to find _David_, you better—"

"Leave now," Blair finishes. She meets Chuck's challenge head-on, lifting her chin slightly.

Then she turns to the door, and with a few parting comments, closes it behind her.

Serena is the first to speak.

"I didn't think she'd actually go."

"Neither did I," Chuck admits, eyes downcast. "I don't suppose—"

"It's not over," Serena says with a roll of her eyes. "Not with you two."

"I suppose your determination—going so far as to rope Humphrey into your scheme, an amateur mistake."

"Dan?" Serena says, turning towards the boy in question, as if even she had forgotten his presence. "It wasn't like I had much of a choice."

"Eric," Chuck reminds her, "probably would have had a better success rate."

"It's you and Blair," Serena reminds _him_. "You said it yourself, I don't think anyone could out-scheme you two. Speaking of Blair," Serena's eyes sparkle dangerously, "aren't you supposed to be chasing her right about now?"

"You weren't so keen on the idea of Blair and I a few moments ago," Chuck tells her drily, but checks his watch at the same time. "You seem to have more than a few change of hearts today."

"Of course I wasn't keen on my best friend getting married," Serena sighs. "And she's happy without you, Chuck. But she's _happiest_ with you. Even if I don't think you deserve her, well, she deserves you."

Chuck merely raises his eyebrows, and Serena glances at the clock worriedly—another two minutes has passed.

"She never did take the ring off," Serena teases lightly.

Chuck is out the door within the next few seconds, with only a single parting remark—"Thank you."

Dan turns to Serena, a look of utter confusion on his features.

"Did Chuck Bass just say _'Thank you_'?" he asks in bewilderment.

Serena only laughs.

…

It is eight minutes till midnight, and Nate stands on the porch, key in hand, tapping his foot, and staring at the door.

He has been in this position for the past forty-five minutes, and his ears are beginning to hurt, and his eyes beginning to water from the cold. He celebrated the New Year in his own way - taking a step towards the front door.

_It's now or never,_ he thinks.

This time, he makes it to the door, puts the key into the lock, and manages to turn it, even if it does take him nearly ten minutes due to the cold.

He takes a breath and pushes the door open.

The warmth of the inside of the house is welcome, and Nate finally feels his fingers begin to defrost. The relief, however, is short-lived, as a golden lab charges at him from nowhere, seemingly eager to jump onto Nate's wool coat and bark loudly.

"Argus!" he hears Jenny admonish, and her voice, though he hasn't heard it in months, sounds the same.

Then she rounds the corner and spots Nate, her eyes growing wide, one hand holding a bowl of popcorn, the other lying on her stomach.

Nate is sure the shock is reflected in his own expression as well. Hudson has changed Jenny, he thinks with a slight smile. Gone is the over-processed, bleach-blonde hair, cut short, brushing her shoulders, and returned to her normal color. Her face was free of any makeup, and she wore nondescript black pants and a grey sweatshirt - completely at odds with traditional New Year's celebrations.

But the shorter hair, the lack of eyeliner, and the grey sweatshirt are not the only changes Nate can see in Jenny. The one change, though enormous, that he notices last, is perhaps the most stunning of all.

* * *

tbc


	12. Chapter 11

**AN: Remember how I said this was basically "Chuck and Blair's top ten moments?" I'm bringing back another one. Also, remember that Eva/Chuck rooftop scene? Giving one to Chuck and Blair, though the weather isn't as favorable. **

**I've also recently joined tumblr (link in profile), and would just love to meet more GG people on there:)**

**Thank you all for the reviews, even if they're just to tell me I'm crazy! I can promise that I have a happy ending in place for Chuck and Blair, though, like the summary of this story says: ****the course of true love never did run smooth.**

**Thanks to bethaboo, as always, for her wonderfully speedy beta-ing skills.

* * *

**

"Damn it," Chuck whispers under his breath, wheeling around. The music pulses loudly in his ears, the lights flashing before his eyes.

The minutes on his watch tick by, and Blair Waldorf is nowhere to be found.

It is oddly reminiscent of another night, another party, another man from which to pry Blair from—except this time, she is leaving clues for no one.

But then his phone buzzes in his hand, and he looks down at the lighted screen impatiently. Until he notices that the sender is Blair.

And, he thinks with a smirk, maybe he assumed too soon.

Apparently Blair _is_ leaving clues.

_If I was your man, I wouldn't need clues to find you._

He has six minutes to go.

And the first clue has just landed in his possession.

_You said you wouldn't need clues to find me. But here's one anyways. Stairwell.-B_

His heart pounds in time with the bass as he runs towards the door leading to the stairs.

…

"Nate!" Jenny exclaims, and it is the sort of exclamation that is more admonishing than surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Kenny gave me the key, he said—"

Jenny lets out a groan, still attempting to pull an overexcited Argus away from Nate.

"He told you, didn't he?" Jenny grimaces. "Well I guess it would be hard to hide—"

"He didn't say anything, only that I should come here and see _you_," Nate says, eyes trained anywhere but at Jenny. He is sure staring won't do him any favors.

"Why are you up here anyways?" Jenny asks, crossing her arms over her chest and releasing Argus.

The lab charges at Nate, but before the dog can jump on him once more, Nate bends down and scratches the dog behind its ears.

Argus barks happily, and Jenny smiles, if only slightly.

"He likes me," Nate points out, and Jenny shakes her head.

"Argus likes everybody. You didn't answer my question, Nate. Why are you here?"

Nate stands, taking a deep breath and forcing himself to look at Jenny.

"I was here to see you," he admits. "Your dad gave me your mom's address, and I—"

"He _what_?" Jenny screeches. "I specifically told him not to—"

"I asked," Nate tells her, quick to come to Rufus' defense. "And you were refusing to see Rufus and Dan, so I thought I might have a shot…"

"If the first few times my mom sent you away were any indication," Jenny snaps, and Nate frowns slightly, noting the very Blair-like quality in her voice, "I didn't want to see you either."

"I guess I know why now," Nate says, and his voice holds no demeaning qualities, only surprise.

Jenny sighs, glancing at the clock.

"Exactly how I wanted to spend my New Year," she grumbles.

But she leads him into the living room anyways.

…

At first, nothing looks out of place in the fluorescent-lit, white-washed stairwell. And Chuck frowns, quickly checking to see if the door is locked, having learned from past experiences.

He isn't too keen on being locked in a stairwell, even if he wasn't on a rooftop and fully clothed this time.

It isn't, and keeping a cautious ear out for sounds of a lock clicking into place, he ascends the first few stairs.

Turning onto the next flight, he notices something.

Filmy red silk La Perlas, trimmed in black lace.

And he knows exactly who they belong to.

Four minutes to go.

…

"So."

"So."

Eric rolls his eyes at Dan and Serena's one-word sentences. "I'm going back to the club. Witness whatever Chuck has planned for New Year's."

Serena nods emphatically. "We'll go with you."

"I'd rather you not," Eric says with a laugh, exiting before any protestations could be made.

Eric gone, the atmosphere in the room changes, and Dan looks at Serena curiously.

"I'd rather stay in here," she admits.

"Me too," he tells her with a smile.

"We'll probably hear everything that's going on outside," Serena reasons. "So we'll know when the New Year hits."

"That, and there's a clock on the opposite wall," Dan points out. Serena blushes, ducking her head. And Dan remembers a time when he used to write about such things.

_My, oh my, how far we've come._

"So what was it like being a part of Chuck and Blair's scheme?" Serena asks, laughter trilling through the office.

Dan makes a face.

"Excruciating."

…

The stairwell leads to the roof, this he knows.

Why Blair picked the roof is beyond him. New Year's Eve is cold in New York, to say in the least. He remembers a New Year's spent in Vail, and Eleanor mentioning that she was glad to be in Vail, and not New York.

"_A fur-trimmed dress in New York is controversial," she said haughtily. "In Vail, it's practical."_

Needless to say, New York is cold. And though Chuck has a certain disposition for rooftops, he is not sure sub-zero weather is ideal.

In fact, he doesn't even _remember_ visiting this particular rooftop. He has been so wrapped up in all the planning, and for the openings and licenses, that the venue had been scouted out quickly.

Curiosity mounting, Chuck takes the steps two at a time, until he reaches a door marked _Roof_. And balanced precariously on a ledge beside the door, is a diamond ring.

He seizes it, and he's not quite sure if what he feels is fury or lust—probably both—and turns the doorknob.

Two minutes.

The first thing that hits him is a blast of cold air—the second, the image of Blair Waldorf clad in nothing but her navy dress, pale skin stark against the dark fabric, and the darker night sky.

She stands close to the door, but far enough that in the few steps it takes Chuck to reach her place by the railing, she has already heard him.

But she doesn't turn around, only welcomes the warmth of a suit jacket placed round her dainty shoulders, breathing in the telltale scent of Chuck Bass.

New York is spread out below them, made all the more spectacular by the holiday, with people cramming every square inch of Times Square, and Chuck knows that the strategic location of the club means they will have the best view of anything.

There is a benefit, he thinks, to buying out the top four floors of an old building and remodeling them into a club.

The sound of a countdown reaches their ears, faintly, but clearly, and Blair finally looks to the side, expression unreadable.

"I believe you left something behind," Chuck smirks, and Blair turns around fully, only to be pinned against the concrete wall.

"And not just your La Perlas," Chuck whispers into her ear, his breath hot.

She feels the cold band of the diamond ring against the pad of her fingertip, and she draws her hand away.

"I never accepted your proposal," she murmurs back.

"I never proposed," Chuck tells her, drawing back. His eyes are dark, determination clear. "At least, not this time."

The resolve in his eyes is clear, and Blair, refusing to allow herself to be sucked into any grand romantic gesture, kisses him instead.

And, as is always the case with them, it escalates quickly, and Blair feels the back of the concrete wall digging into her back as her heels dig into Chuck's back.

…

"You should tell him," Nate says, after an awkward silence passes. The TV is on mute, and Times Square is on the display.

Nate wonders if he'd rather be there.

"No," Jenny says adamantly. "There was a reason why I didn't tell anyone back home, Nate."

"But—"

"Don't," Jenny says wearily.

A cheer is heard next door, and on the TV, fireworks

Nothing passes between the two.

…

"—probably shouldn't scheme against Chuck and Blair," Dan finishes with a shake of his head.

Serena shrugs, "I told you, it worked once before."

"This is Chuck and Blair," Dan says with a laugh.

"If they can make it work, _anyone_ can," Serena adds with another laugh.

The subtext of her words is clear.

_Then why can't we_?

"Even us?" Dan prompts.

The clock ticks twelve, and the cheers can be heard from the club, which is currently being showered in black and gold confetti.

Serena answers him with a kiss.

…

The cheers are deafening, the fireworks even more so.

But when it is Chuck and Blair together on a rooftop, unconscious of the bitter cold, lips meeting furiously, hands tugging on hair, unzipping expensive trousers and hiking up even more expensive dresses, there is only Chuck and Blair.

And as the clock strikes midnight, and Blair moans quietly into Chuck's ear as he thrusts into her, they are completely oblivious to anything but each other.

As it always is.

…

_New Year's Day_

The sun streams through the windows and Blair throws another arm over her eyes, attempting to block out the light.

It is not because she is hungover—far from it actually—but because the light signifies the beginning of a new day, or rather, a new year. And it is with this new year that she was supposed to start anew.

Finding herself in Chuck's bed, remnants of her dress scattered around the floor, and his arm thrown over her stomach, is proof that starting anew is not in the books for Blair Waldorf.

But as she sighs quietly into the stillness of the penthouse, her mind organizing and re-organizing her thoughts, she realizes that perhaps this is exactly where she is supposed to be.

And with the thought sound in her mind, she feels a tugging at her waist, and Chuck pulls her closer, pressing his lips to her bare shoulder. She allows herself to luxuriate in the simplicity of the moment for a few seconds, then props herself up on her right arm, looking at Chuck contemplatively.

"Where do we go from here?" she asks, almost fearfully. "We've tried the friends thing. We've tried being apart. We've tried destroying each other—"

"And they all ended with you in my bed," Chuck says with a smirk.

Blair rolls her eyes slightly.

"Then I suppose that so-called break we took was for naught?"

"No," Chuck says pensively. "It wasn't."

"It lasted barely a week, Chuck. I'd say it was a failure."

"I told you," Chuck says with a shrug, "we're inevitable. That break—"

"Was doomed from the start," Blair finishes.

"It served its purpose."

"And what was that?"

"Proving that we're inevitable," Chuck says simply. "And that no matter what, you'd end up in my bed."

"And that we're not good for each other," Blair points out. "We bring out the worst in each other. I was going to donate your earrings."

"You weren't going to," Chuck answers. "You would have tried to, but ultimately failed."

"Because you know me so well," Blair retorts.

"I do, lover," Chuck begins. "Because we're the same. I know you better than I know myself."

Blair tilts her head slightly, dark curls spilling over one shoulder.

And she kisses him fiercely, hands twining through his hair as his hands grip her bare hips, rolling her on top of him.

He takes it as an agreement.

…

They are lounging in Chuck's bed, Blair in a fluffy white robe, hair damp and feet bare.

It is how they have been spending the majority of their time lately, Blair thinks with a smirk. Room Service is an invention to be praised.

"Gossip Girl is speculating on my whereabouts again," Blair says with an amused laugh, scanning over the blogger's many posts. "I'm surprised, actually, that one of the maids hadn't tipped her off already."

At this, Chuck merely shrugs, and Blair narrows her eyes, knowing full well what the seemingly blasé shrug meant.

"Chuck," she says warningly.

"I paid them off," he says, and Blair rolls her eyes. Why she expected any differently is beyond her.

"Is that what you plan to do?" Blair asks playfully, rolling onto her back. "Keep me locked up here and pay off the maids to keep my presence here a secret?"

"You make it sound as though you're being kept against your will," Chuck points out, "but we both know that's not true."

"Then again," Chuck says with a faux expression of concern, "your moaning and screaming last night may have scared away the other guests."

Blair kicks in the direction of his voice, but he quickly captures her foot, holding it captive by his side.

"Not to worry," he says with a smirk. "I had the floor below us kept empty on purpose."

"The Empire isn't losing revenue?" Blair asks in surprise, sitting up on her elbows.

Chuck shrugs, "Not more than it already has."

Blair raises an eyebrow, not having heard this piece of information before.

"Apparently the owner of a hotel disappearing for months isn't good for business," Chuck says briefly, and from the expression on his face, she knows the subject is closed. Not to mention, the subject itself is a touchy one with them. The Empire still seems to tower over Blair, reminding her of the hurt he has inflicted.

"Chuck," Blair says firmly, sitting up and pulling her foot back, so to inch herself closer to him, placing her hands on his face and forcing him to look at her. "You're not your father. You'll fail sometimes. But in the end, you're always going to succeed. The Empire will pull through. You've put a lot into this hotel," she adds the last sentence bitterly, but she knows that the hotel means as much to her as it does to Chuck. Losing it is not an option she is willing to consider.

"And as for Bass Industries," Blair explains, "they _will_ let you back in, Chuck. It's your father's company."

Blair can sense Chuck closing up, pulling away from her, and she sits back, allowing for a greater distance between them.

But the opposite is true when Chuck heaves a sigh, then smiles slightly at Blair.

"Thank you," he says honestly, "for believing in me."

"Always have, always will," Blair whispers, and their eyes lock in a heated, loaded gaze. But the moment is interrupted by the simultaneous beeping of two cell phones. Their cell phones, to be exact.

Another Gossip Girl blast, this one placing Blair in Europe, away at a treatment center for alcoholism, is on both their phones.

"She gets more and more ridiculous with every passing day," Blair deadpans, looking at Chuck to agree with her.

He merely nods, and says offhandedly, "I suppose we better set the bitch straight, then."

"You mean…tell her we're together again?" Blair asks, unsure. Chuck nods, and her stomach tightens. "I was thinking that we keep it this way for a while. Keep it a…secret, of sorts."

"A secret?" Chuck frowns.

Blair nods emphatically, "You proved your point, Bass. But just because we're meant to be together doesn't mean we actually have to _be_ together. At least, not publicly."

"So you're ashamed, then?" Chuck challenges, and it is not anger in his voice, that Blair hears, but rather, fear.

"No," Blair says slowly, taking the time to form the thoughts. "Not exactly."

"Then what is it?" Chuck's eyes blaze, and Blair would be lying if she said she isn't slightly afraid. But it has always been this way with them—the push and pull, the gossamer thin line between love and hate. With them, there is no middle ground. With them, there are no rules, really. No rules, no limits—it is dangerous, to say in the least.

"Taking a break won't work with us. Not unless we're on separate continents, and even then…" Blair shakes her head, recollecting herself. "But we're not good together, Chuck. You know that."

"And by keeping us a secret, you can get around that?" Chuck asks, and his voice has neared seething by this point.

"No," Blair says quickly. "By keeping us a secret, we can be Blair Waldorf and Chuck Bass—separately. I need to focus on Columbia, you need to focus on Bass Industries. But we can't stay apart. It's just not in our nature."

Chuck finds himself growing more troubled by the conversation with each passing minute. But he's always been more inclined to _actions_ than _talking_.

"Well," he says with a smirk, "at the very least, I've convinced you of two things."

"Those being?" Blair asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"We can't be friends," Chuck tells her, and before Blair can edge a word in, traps her against the wall, arms pinned by his, "and that no matter what, you'll always end up in my bed."

"Or against your wall," Blair says wryly, before his lips capture hers and they find themselves exactly where they'll always end up.

Together.

…

_A week later_

The small park a block away is one of the dingiest Nate has ever seeen. Compared with Central Park, the overflowing garbage bins and unkempt grass is unsightly. But Nate's grown to love Hudson, to love the neighborhood he has been spending an obscene amount of time in. His days revolve around visiting Jenny, and he rues the day he has to return to New York.

Because the time he has spent in Hudson is synonymous with him finding something that felt a lot like happiness. Not the manufactured kind he found in the Upper East Side, but true happiness.

It's an odd feeling, indeed.

"I haven't been out of the house in a while," Jenny says with a small, sad smile. Nate doesn't ask why, because the pointed stares and looks of disgust from strangers are enough. "Actually, apart from my mom, Alex, and Argus, I haven't been in contact with many people."

"Do you like it here?" Nate blurts out. Jenny takes a moment to consider the question, tilting her head slightly.

"No one knows me here," Jenny says instead. "There's talk. But there's less of it. Here, I'm just Jenny. No one expects anything from me."

"Sounds like the opposite of the Upper East Side," Nate says, his voice almost wistful.

"I miss it, sometimes," Jenny says quietly. She blows on her hot chocolate (a sorry replacement for a latte, she thinks), though it has already cooled. "But I don't think I could go back."

"Because of Blair?" Nate asks, a hint of ire in his voice. Jenny winces, but nods.

"Not just because of Blair," Jenny argues. "Nate, no one can know. I haven't seen my dad or my brother for months because I had to keep this hidden. I can't count the number of times Dan's come up here, but I hid in my room, forcing my mom to send him away."

"They miss you," Nate supplies. "Rufus says he misses you."

"I know," Jenny sighs, then looks down, "just a few more months. Then we can act as if nothing happened."

"But—"

Her eyes turn steely.

"_No one_ can know, Nate," Jenny says firmly. "No one. Especially not Chuck."

"But it's his, right?"

Jenny winces, but shakes her head at herself before she blurts out the truth. What she is doing is wrong, she knows. But Nate has just re-entered her life, and Jenny knows that if she tells him the truth, he would leave for good this time. And she didn't know for sure. She wouldn't know, she hopes. If all goes well, she will deliver this baby and hand it off to a loving family.

Jenny just wants her child to grow up like she did in Brooklyn—and never set foot in the Upper East Side.

"No one," Jenny says firmly.

Nate, powerless as always, simply nods.

Jenny leans back and takes a sip of her hot chocolate.

Nate doesn't break promises, she thinks.

She conveniently forgets any promise he _has_ broken, because she likes to believe that this is the Nate that only she knows. And this Nate can never know the truth, not after he's seemingly forgiven her for any fault in their past.

…

"Monday after four?"

"Econ class, then Operations Management group work."

"Blair Waldorf, doing group projects?" Chuck asks wryly.

"If it weren't for me, they would fall apart," Blair shoots back. "Tuesday for lunch?"

"I'm meeting with the Bass board."

Blair gives him a small smile, knowing that the re-introduction of Chuck into Bass Industries hasn't been as smooth as they'd hoped. "Wednesday morning?"

"Breakfast with investors. Wednesday night?"

"Dinner with the Kanes."

"I'm not invited to that," Chuck observes.

Blair shrugs, "They invited me in lieu of my mother. This is ridiculous, Bass. We're never going to find a time when we're both available."

Chuck leans back on the leather seat, and Blair catches his expression, scooting back slightly away.

It has been a tradition of sorts, one that strangely hasn't garnered Gossip Girl's attention. Serena, Blair suspects, knows why Blair's bed is hardly slept in—and when it has been slept in, why a black limo idles outside her building.

The doorman knows not to wave the driver away till a certain brunette wearing a headband and smile walks through the double doors.

And she smiles not because of what often ensues in the back seat of his limo, but because of what this signifies.

She is stubborn, she knows, pretending and insisting that they are not together. It stems from her wanting to become Blair Waldorf on her own, but a small part, perhaps larger than she'd like, comes from not wanting to be hurt again. If they are together in secret, a betrayal would be less painful, she thinks.

The forgiveness came with time, but Blair knows that she cannot truly trust him—not yet, at least. Not until she can trust herself with him.

And with the vulnerability that he so easily uncovers when she is around him—whether it is convincing her to skip Le Pain Quotidien or a Macroeconomics class—trusting herself around a Bass is proving to be impossible.

But as his hands find their way along the seam of her skirt and curling intimately around the silk of her La Perlas—she's taken to wearing an obscene amount of lingerie lately—she thinks that it isn't so bad.

* * *

tbc


	13. Chapter 12

**AN: I hope you'll all enjoy the next part of the story, and stick with me as we move into the home stretch of Recollection. All will be resolved, I promise:) Thanks so much everyone, for your reviews and PMs. They truly make my day - not to mention, keep me writing! On that note, I'm trying to keep Recollection on a schedule (Sun/Thurs), we'll see how I fare, as I don't have very many chapters to go! **

**Huge thanks to my beta, bethaboo, who got me back to this in record time. She's all kinds of amazing.

* * *

**

"Don't you dare answer that," Chuck growls against Blair's bare skin, and she surreptitiously glances over at her phone.

_MOTHER_ flashes on the screen, and Blair knows that not picking up would be a horrible idea, but then Chuck's lips move from her jaw to her neck, and his hands trace a line up her bare thigh.

Blair lets the rings fade into silence as her subsequent moans fill the room.

…

"Blair," Eleanor answers her phone with a customary stony greeting, her irritation clear though she is on another continent.

"Mother," Blair replies with a sigh, "you called?"

"Yes," Eleanor sniffs, "approximately two hours ago. It's nearly dinner, Cyrus and I were about to leave."

"I was busy," Blair replies, and she catches her reflection in the mirror, knowing full well that her cheeks are aflame.

"At ten o'clock on Saturday morning?" Eleanor admonishes. "Blair—"

"I was _busy_, mother," Blair says tiredly. "But why did you call?"

As if by enchantment, Eleanor suddenly forgets Blair's misdemeanor, quickly delving into the reason for her call.

"Do you remember Léon Desmarais?"

"Vaguely," Blair says disinterestedly, concentrating on brushing the tangles out of her hair. For the most part, her hair has been in a constant disarray the past week, and she had even gone so far as to wear an actual _ponytail._

"You'll do well to remember him when he visits New York in two days," Eleanor says, and Blair finds herself suddenly interested in the conversation.

"Mother, I—"

"—would be delighted to show him around New York," Eleanor finishes sternly. Blair can picture Eleanor's steely expression, and she is glad that there is an ocean between them.

That ocean, however, doesn't begin to encompass the hell Eleanor could bring if Blair refuses.

"I'll meet him for lunch, perhaps dinner," Blair says disdainfully. "But that's all. Isn't he simply the son or nephew of a Count of some sort?"

"His mother is the cousin of the current Count of Châlons," Eleanor says haughtily. "And ever since the debacle with Louis—"

"I told you, mother," Blair explains with an air of exasperation, "it was for the best."

"And I want what's best for you, darling," Eleanor says, "but Louis was absolutely wonderful, and his titles—"

"Are you saying I should have stayed with him simply because he was titled?" Blair challenges.

"Of course not," Eleanor assures her, but the assurance falls flat. "All I'm saying Blair, is that you need to think about your future."

"I am attending Columbia," Blair tells her.

"And it's a wonderful school, but you still haven't chosen your major. I thought with Louis by your side, you had some direction—"

"I wouldn't want to be a _trophy wife_," Blair says distastefully, knowing full well her mother's disdain for the word.

"And you wouldn't be," Eleanor explains. "Blair, darling, just promise me you'll start thinking about your future. And while you're at it, be a dear and show Léon around New York."

"Why is it of the utmost importance I show the son of the cousin of a Count around New York?" Blair asks, irritated. Between schoolwork and Chuck, she barely has enough time to go to Bliss for a much needed facial.

Then again, Blair thinks, as she inspects her skin with a magnifying mirror, she doesn't mind being slightly scruffy when there is so much pleasure to be had.

"Because he's an important connection," Eleanor tells her. "You know the importance of connections, Blair. In New York or otherwise."

"But—"

"And Cara Winters is a friend of the Desmaraises," Eleanor concedes, seemingly tired of Blair's refusal. "And Kelly, of course, can't wait for the first chance to marry into royalty. You know full well the reckless social-climbing ambition of the Winters."

Eleanor's distaste is clear, and Blair has to laugh silently at her mother's disdain. The feud between Cara and Eleanor had been going on for years, and Blair remembers the most recent meeting between a Waldorf and a Winters. She had seemingly just donated Chuck's earrings, she thinks with a smile.

Shaking the thought from her head, because lately, he seemed to be crowding her thoughts, Blair concentrates back on her mother's rant.

"—uncouth, completely ignorant of the—"

"I'll show Léon around New York," Blair concedes warily. She has better things to do (the first one who comes to mind is _Chuck_, but she pushes the thought from her mind and quickly berates herself for becoming as depraved as him) but she knows full well the importance of her task in her mother's eyes.

"Just make sure you keep him away from Kelly Winters," Eleanor insists. "He's only in New York for three days, that shouldn't be much of a challenge, should it?"

"Of course not," Blair says through gritted teeth, unable to back down from a challenge when it comes to her mother. She neglects to mention that Eleanor had previously said that she would only need to spare a day of her week to show Léon around.

"Thank you, darling," Eleanor coos, and Blair sighs quietly, hoping it doesn't translate over the phone line. "Do make sure he meets everyone else, though. Serena, maybe? And the Kleinharts, the Archibalds, of course, perhaps the McInereys and Davises if they are in town—"

"How do you expect me to keep him from the Winterses' grasp if I'm to drag him to every society function during his stay?" Blair asks, frustrated.

"Not every society function," Eleanor instructs. "That would be vulgar. A few intimate dinners with friends would be perfect."

"I'll be sure to, mother," Blair says drily, already regretting the conversation. She doesn't think it can get much worse, but Eleanor suddenly decides to inquire about her life.

"How are you, Blair? We haven't spoken in a while."

"Just fine," Blair grits out. She's not quite sure how to explain her current situation to her _mother_, of all people.

She's even less sure of how to mention Chuck to her mother, especially after her mother had admitted her love of Louis.

"And yourself?" Blair says quickly, knowing that if there's anything to get her mother to stop with her current line of questioning, it is surrendering oneself to listening to tales of woe about the anguish and hardships of the design business.

"Oh, wonderful, wonderful. I was recently at _another_ model casting, we're getting a head start for Paris Fashion Week, although I'm still unsure if I'd rather show in Paris or New York. The Paris critics are much more scathing, and the New York atmosphere is much more in tune with Waldorf designs. But the venues here are _so_ much more diverse than the ones in New York—"

Blair allows her mother's voice to trail into the background as she continues to examine herself in the magnifying mirror. Noting that her eyebrows need to be threaded, she makes a mental note to squeeze an appointment at Elizabeth Arden soon, lest she take _scruffy_ to a level she doesn't dare drop to.

There were some things that aren't worth sacrificing for an afternoon of sex.

Then again, that list is short.

…

Léon arrives the following day, and Blair has his itinerary in three copies—one in her e-mail, one hard copy, and one meticulously written into her dayplanner. She is to act as some sort of better-dressed tour guide, she supposes. Though the task is tedious, Blair is less apprehensive about it than she is about explaining it to Chuck. Though he has been born into wealth and privilege like the rest of them, his father hadn't. And because of that, there came a slight divide between the Basses and the Waldorfs.

The Waldorfs had a great number of connections, some from Harold's clients, but most were from past familial ties. The Basses had a few, but had mostly bought their way into the inner circles.

Blair knows Chuck would scoff slightly at her mother's attempt to find herself in the good graces of the Desmaraises, one of the oldest families in France. Blair vaguely remembers being introduced to Léon, but concludes that he must not have been very memorable if the only thing she can remember is that he is tall.

Still, Blair knows Chuck's propensity for jealousy better than anyone else, and she is unsure as to how she should approach the subject.

"Mariza!" she says suddenly, wincing as the manicurist accidentally cuts too deep into her cuticle.

"Sorry miss," the woman apologizes, quickly fixing her mistake.

Blair bites her inner cheek and the barb she had been about to throw at the woman is suppressed.

She is growing up, she thinks with a smile. And with that thought, her mind turns to Chuck, to them, as it has the past few days.

The problem with keeping things a secret was that they never stayed secrets for long.

Blair knows that keeping their relationship a secret is her way of asserting control, of attempting to wrestle the situation into a containable box. But she also knows that she must face the reality eventually.

That she may never really trust him again.

…

"What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Hmm?" Blair asks nonchalantly, though her voice is false to her own ears.

"Tomorrow," Chuck enunciates, looking at her oddly. "What are you doing tomorrow?"

"I have classes," Blair begins, still evading the question.

"I've memorized your entire schedule, Waldorf," Chuck points out. "I know you only have two classes tomorrow, Business Management and Econ."

Blair raises an eyebrow. "The CIA really should hire you. You'd make a superb stalker, Bass."

"Hard not to memorize when I've had to plan all my meetings so that we'd have the same time free," Chuck reminds her.

"So thoughtful," Blair says with a roll of her eyes.

"You enjoy it as much as I do," Chuck parries. "If today was any indication."

Blair shrugs indifferently. "You're a good stress reliever."

And Chuck raises an eyebrow. "And that's all?"

"Of course, Bass," Blair says with a smirk, and then changes the subject before the teasing turns into actual insults. "But I don't think there'll be any…_stress-relieving_ tomorrow. I've got plans with Serena."

"Serena?" Chuck frowns. "She isn't with Humphrey tomorrow?"

"She's always with Cabbage Patch," Blair points out. "And I'm always with you. I hardly ever see her anymore, _and_ she's my roommate."

"You've practically moved into the Empire," Chuck points out. "I found _half_ of my bowties gone to make room for your headbands, Waldorf."

"Chuck," Blair says, faux-surprised, "I snuck those headbands in there while you were asleep."

"And you didn't think I noticed?" Chuck challenges. "I was simply too worn out to move from the bed."

Blair ignores the heat in her cheeks and averts her eyes from Chuck's dark ones. "I'm not living here, Chuck. It's a miracle Gossip Girl hasn't been speculating what I've been doing at the Empire. I don't think even we'd be able to come up with a good enough excuse for that."

"We'll think of something," Chuck says blithely, as though the subject of evading Gossip Girl is still a touchy one. "By the way, where are my bowties? I wanted to wear my lavender one today."

Blair rolls her eyes slightly. "If I didn't know better, Bass…"

"I look good in purple," Chuck says defensively.

Blair doesn't refute the statement, simply turns back to her work. "They're in the second drawer from the bottom."

Chuck goes off to the bedroom, presumably to reinstate his bowties to their rightful place. What Blair doesn't know is that the ring, which had found its home among his bowties once, had been relocated many times since. Since New Year's Eve, when they had stumbled into his suite half-clothed, mostly drunk, and primarily horny, it had found its way into the second drawer from the bottom.

Chuck's not sure why he's going to the drawer, but he attributes it to his masochistic tendencies. He know that he and Blair are in no place to be married at the moment, knows that he still hasn't fully won back her trust—she wouldn't be attempting to keep their relationship a secret otherwise.

But the ring brings a sort of odd serenity to him, and he can't help but find something a lot like _hope_ when he has it in his hands. It is overly cheesy and completely un-Chuck Bass-like, but he smirks anyways.

Because there is a diamond in the second drawer from the bottom, and the woman it is intended for has all but said yes already.

Then again, knowing Blair Waldorf, she would probably put him through hell and back before giving him a succinct _yes._

…

"Samuelson rescheduled again," Chuck says by way of explanation, already halfway in the elevator by the time Blair exits the shower, hair in a towel. On a normal day, she would have been irritated at the quick brush-off, but two things factor into her calm as she takes a sip of her coffee—black, two sugars, she thinks with a smile, because Chuck hadn't forgotten about her entirely. One, Chuck's quick departure leaves less room for questions, and Samuelson's meeting was to run the length of the entire day, as per usual. Two, Chuck had been courting the financer for all of three weeks, before he had finally agreed to a meeting. And the time of that meeting was determined upon Samuelson's whims, which seemed to change on a daily basis.

Blair knows that things are different this time. That sometimes, she can allow herself to be put second to business, but that Chuck would never choose it over her. It is a comforting revelation, and one that she knows is not a figment of her fairytale tendencies.

…

"Mother," Blair sighs into her phone. "I'm on my way to pick up Léon now. Why he can't even get himself into the city is beyond me, but I've a limo as you requested and—"

"I'm not checking up on you," Eleanor says, affronted. "I'm merely asking you to suggest that Léon's mother, Emmanuelle, wear one of my designs for this year's Crillon Ball."

"Mother," Blair deadpans, "I thought I was to act as a glorified tour guide to him, not a publicist pushing your designs."

"I'm merely asking you to suggest, darling," Eleanor says quickly. "Don't be too eager and don't push either. That's vulgar."

"I'll mention that your designs are stunning," Blair says by way of a farewell, before ending the call quickly, sitting back, and taking another sip of coffee.

It is going to be a long day, she thinks.

…

"Léon!" Blair greets with a bright smile, her facial expression slightly manic thanks to the three cups of coffee she has already downed. Midway through the second, she had contemplated a shot of whiskey—apparently Chuck was rubbing off on her. But her judgment won out in the end, and she decided that overcaffeniated was far more respectable than drunk before noon.

She vaguely remembers Léon, and for a second, wonders if she has really met him. Surely someone with eyes as blue as his would have stuck in her memory. Blair thinks it must be the caffeine as she flashes another bright smile at Léon, who returns one politely, though slightly baffled.

"Blair, yes?" he asks, and his English is only slightly accented by French, Blair notices.

"Blair Waldorf," she says, holding out her hand. "My mother, Eleanor Waldorf, asked me to show you around New York?"

"You are too kind," Léon says, taking her hand. "I am only in New York for a few days, but a tour from a native New Yorker would be lovely."

Blair cringes at his choice of words, but says nothing as she draws back her hand.

"What brings you here?" she asks instead, regretting the question immediately as Léon launches into an in-depth explanation of New York's stock markets and his interest in the various real estate markets of the States.

Somehow, Blair finds it more interesting when Chuck explains stocks to her. Which only happens when she is thoroughly confused by her coursework and willing enough to accept help.

Which is rare in itself.

…

"Sis," Chuck drawls, as Serena bounces down the stairs, clearly expecting someone else.

"Chuck," Serena says with a sigh. "Blair's not here," she adds quickly, looking past him as though she wanted him out. And quickly.

"She isn't?" Chuck repeats, confused. "She is spending the day with you..."

"She is?" Serena asks, her turn to be confused. Then her expression changes quickly, and Serena smiles brightly at him.

The blonde was never good at cover-up.

"I haven't seen Blair in _days_," Serena tells him. "We're going to the Mandarin today, just us. And I was going to ask what happened on New Year's. Before I decided I didn't want to know."

Chuck smirks at the tail end of her sentence, but Serena's excuse is weak at best. He sighs, knowing that getting information out of Serena at this point is a wash. Best to go straight to Blair, he thinks.

He begins to call her, but before he can press the _Call_ button, a message from Gossip Girl comes through.

**Spotted: B, finally out and about Manhattan, this time with a new royal on her arm. Sources tell me this one isn't a cousin, but a nephew of a Count in France. Oh, B, we thought you were done with the royals after you sent L packing up and leaving on his royal jet? We're curious what C has to say about the picture attached.**

And all his questions are answered.

"Chuck…" Serena says tentatively. "I'm sure it's not—"

"Of course not," he replies with a roll of his eyes, already pushing the button for the elevator. "Have fun with Humphrey, S."

"Don't do anything stupid!" Serena calls after him, but he pretends he doesn't hear as the elevator doors close.

Chuck Bass doesn't do anything stupid, he thinks with a shake of his head. But when it comes to Blair Waldorf, his perception is a bit skewed.

He wouldn't have it any other way, to be honest.

…

It isn't difficult to track down Blair and the unnamed, presumably European, royal. The restaurant Gossip Girl had pictured them at was merely two blocks down from the Waldorfs, one Eleanor and Blair had frequented before. Chuck nods to the maitre d' as he enters, acting as though he is meeting someone there.

His eyes scan the room quickly, but he doesn't need more than a few seconds to locate a laughing brunette, whose back is turned to him and is seated in front of a smiling blonde.

Chuck sees red.

But when he nears the table, watching Blair intently as her laughter—oddly high-pitched, he thinks—trills around the restaurant.

He thinks he sees her tense as he nears, and Léon's eyes meet his uncertainly.

"Blair," Chuck says smoothly, hands on her shoulders, which tense under his touch. She whips around quickly, looking up at him with an expression he can't read.

"Chuck," she says through gritted teeth. Throwing another smile at the boy, she makes the introductions quickly, and Chuck notes that she introduces him as a mere _friend_.

Léon's smile is polite, his handshake equally as bland. He is not as dense as Nate, Chuck thinks, because he _has_ noticed the very apparent tension between Chuck and Blair. But in every other aspect, the boy is a French version of Nate, from the navy pullover to carefully uncoiffed hair.

"Where's Serena?" Chuck asks, as though he were expecting the blonde to be around.

"She couldn't make it," Blair says with a smile. Léon looks confused, and Chuck thinks perhaps he _is_ as dense as he looks. "Serena's a friend," Blair explains quickly.

"Serena van der Woodsen?" Léon clarifies. Chuck watches as Blair's jaw tenses, but she forces out a smile and a nod.

"You're friends with her?" Léon presses, and Chuck isn't sure if the boy is completely oblivious to Blair's strained expression, or simply _that_ infatuated with Serena.

It wouldn't be the first time.

"She is a _friend_, yes," Blair grits out.

Léon shakes his head. "I am surprised, Blair. That you would be friends with her."

Blair looks taken aback for a moment, then a slight smile curls at the corners of her mouth, before she remembers that she is supposed to be Serena's best friend.

"Have her affairs reached even Europe?" Chuck asks innocently, and Blair shoots him a covert glare.

"She was in all the newspapers and magazines one summer," Léon says disdainfully. "It was quite a shame."

"Quite," Chuck echoes. "I heard there was one of her dancing on tabletops? Disgraceful."

Léon nods emphatically, and Chuck's smirk widens as he leans forward. "You should probably know, that Blair enjoys dancing as well."

"Oh, yes," Léon says, with a smile in her direction. "I remember you mentioning that you enjoyed waltzing."

"Oh, not just waltzing," Chuck says breezily, "she hasn't told you about her foray into burlesque?"

At this, Blair is quick to stand, scraping back her chair loudly enough to cover Chuck's last words. Nearly the entire restaurant gives her a look, but she finds herself uncaring as she drags Chuck away, a simple apology uttered over her shoulder to Léon.

"Shame I didn't get to tell him about what happened _after_ your dance on Victrola's stage," Chuck says when Blair finally stops, turning on her heel to glare at him. "I'm sure he wouldn't have minded knowing that you're all too willing to take your clothes off for—"

"Shut up," Blair growls, covering his mouth with her hand.

He smirks against her palm, but then his expression grows serious.

"What the hell, Blair?"

She huffs, removing her hand from his mouth and continuing to glare at him.

"You just ruined _everything_, Bass."

"And what exactly did I ruin? Your paltry attempt to marry into royalty. This is what, the third time?"

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, and her expression is a mixture of shock, hurt, and disgust.

"Blair—" the plea is heartfelt, but she backs away from him instantly.

"Don't," she warns. "Don't touch me, Chuck."

"Blair," he says again, disgusted with himself for how pathetic _he_ sounds.

But she turns on her heel, the gold detailing of her dress shimmering in the light as she makes her way back to the table to a confused Léon.

He is fated to helplessly watch as she walks away from him.

…

"You screwed up," Eric says, upon stepping foot into the Empire.

"That was fast," Chuck comments, and Eric notes with a smile that there is no broken glass, surrounding his stepbrother. Only business proposals stacked in varying heights. The tallest one is nearly the length of his palm, Eric thinks, but he shakes off the wayward thought.

He's just glad it's business proposals surrounding Chuck, and not bottles of pills.

"I'm not even on my second scotch," Chuck continues, and Eric's gaze is turned towards the half empty tumbler, and the bottle next to it.

"You're not self-destructing," Eric says in slight awe.

The observation seems to take Chuck by surprise, and he looks around him as though he has just realized that no, he is _not_ self-destructing.

"I'm not," he says, slightly bewildered.

Eric nods at him, taking a seat opposite. There is pride in the boy's eyes, but instead of being ashamed, Chuck only feels an overwhelming sense of self-worth.

It is rather foreign, to be honest.

"I just thought it would be a better idea to go over these quarterlies than to trudge through Nate's room, looking for hash. Blair threw mine away," he explains.

"Chuck Bass is finally growing up," Eric says drily. Though the comment could be construed as sarcastic, Chuck only hears the truth in it.

But the almost crushing sense of pride is flattened when he thinks back on his words an hour earlier.

Maybe Chuck Bass is growing up, but he has a long way to go.

"What happened?" Eric finally asks.

"You already know," Chuck evades the question by turning to another pile, preparing to sift through more quarterly reports.

"Gossip Girl isn't exactly the best source of information," Eric says simply.

"I screwed up," Chuck admits.

Eric frowns.

"So fix it."

"I—"

"You're Chuck Bass," Eric tells him, his voice almost more commanding than Chuck's own. "And you screw up. More than most people, actually. But you always fix things, Chuck. You won't let anything slip out of your grasp. Especially Blair."

"I—"

"Don't know what to do," Eric finishes for him. He's gotten rather used to finishing his elder stepbrother's sentences, he thinks with a smirk eerily similar to Chuck's.

"I don't even know why she was with Léon in the first place," Chuck admits. He says the other man's name with disdain, and Eric hears the jealousy in his voice, no matter how hard Chuck attempts to hide it.

"I guess it's time we call Serena," Eric says. Chuck nods, and for an extended moment, feels safe. Because Eric is starting to resemble a brother, and Serena, a sister.

A family, he thinks with a small smile.

"Never thought we'd be going to Serena to ask for help," Chuck can't help but note, and he and Eric laugh until Serena picks up, breathless as though she's just run a marathon.

A marathon is more likely, Chuck thinks, considering Serena _is _with Humphrey. But Chuck doesn't say anything for Eric's sake.

…

"You really should think before you speak," Serena admonishes, and Chuck rolls his eyes, reaching for his scotch—which Eric slyly moves about three inches away.

Chuck glares at him, but instead of risking the blonde's wrath, turns back to Serena instead.

"Everyone screws up, Serena. You of all people should know _that_ better than anyone."

Serena's eyes narrow, but she ignores the jab. "There again, Chuck. Why am I helping you if you're only going to insult me?"

"Because he knows he's wrong and we all know Blair is making a mistake," Eric cuts in, quick to diffuse the situation.

"She's not," Serena defends quickly. "Blair's not looking to _date_ Léon, even if it looks that way to Chuck."

"And everyone else in Manhattan," Chuck mumbles under his breath. Serena ignores this as well, continuing on. Eric shares a covert glance with Chuck. Having been Serena's brother for his entire life, he knows exactly how to get the blonde to start talking.

Then again, this _is_ Serena van der Woodsen.

"You know Cara Winters, right?" Serena doesn't pause, already knowing his answer—Chuck had been to the nearly disastrous gala. "She and Eleanor have a feud that dates back to when they were our age. And apparently the Desmaraises are important in Paris. Relatives of some Count, or something of the sort."

"He's royalty, I believe Gossip Girl has already established that," Chuck says impatiently.

"He's not really royalty," Serena corrects. "Just family."

"Your point being?"

"That Blair isn't with him because she wants to marry into royalty. She gave that up when she left Louis. To be with you, may I add."

It's Chuck's turn to ignore the pointed jab, though his expression falls slightly.

"Blair's acting as Léon's tour guide—"

"Blair Waldorf, a _tour guide_?" Eric interjects, bewilderment clear.

Serena shrugs. "Eleanor," she says, as though it explains everything. It does. When it comes down to it, Blair's mother has a sway over her daughter that Chuck's not evens sure he can break.

"By showing Léon around, Eleanor's hoping to gain clout in Paris, while keeping him away from Kelly Winters," Serena explains, repeating the words she had heard from Blair earlier.

"Kelly Winters?" Chuck repeats in surprise. "The girl is so vapid she's harmless."

"No," Serena corrects. "The girl is so ambitious she's dangerous."

"Shit."

The two turn in surprise to the youngest van der Woodsen, whose vocabulary usually doesn't reach to profanity.

"Kelly Winters is coming to dinner tonight," Eric enlightens the two. "The same dinner Léon and Blair are attending."

Serena's eyes widen, and she mentally checks the guest list in her head. Kelly hadn't been a part of either the eleven invited, nor the nine that accepted.

"I overheard mom talking to Cara on the phone," Eric says in a rush. "She and her husband are busy, but wanted Kelly to go in their stead."

"They were never invited," Serena says, frowning. "The dinner is supposed to be an informal gathering. As informal as it gets with Mom, anyways."

Eric shrugs. "This is the Winters. They will go through extraordinary lengths to obtain invites."

Eric and Serena turn to Chuck simultaneously, as if wondering why he had not spoken up yet.

"Chuck?" Serena prompts.

He merely smirks. Unknowingly, Eric has just given him the perfect opportunity.

Eric and Serena share matching expressions of fear.

* * *

tbc


	14. Chapter 13

**AN: To all my reviewers/favorite-rs/alert-ers, you are the wind beneath my wings. Without your love and encouragement, I wouldn't be able to have gotten this far, or update as frequently as I plan to. Thank you, thank you, thank you. **

**Another big thank you to bethaboo, the most hard-working beta around, who beta-d my chapter in record time. And to SaturnineSunshine, for her encouragement and all-around awesomeness.**

**I hadn't meant for Recollection to drag on so long, but my apparent love for elaboration (and general wordiness) is making this into a longer story than planned. I do hope no one else minds.  
**

**And onto the chapter, enjoy!

* * *

**

"Chuck," Serena says warningly, and his only response is a sigh.

"Chuck," Eric repeats, and his voice is warning as well - the two blondes are opposite him, both wearing matching expressions of worry.

"You know there's an explanation—"

"Think—"

"This is stupid, Chuck. If—"

"You've already done this once, " Eric interrupts Serena. "And think about how much good that did you."

Chuck finally deigns to respond, wearing his customary smirk.

"That's where you're wrong, dear brother."

…

Blair makes sure to arrive slightly later—though not inappropriately so—in order to make one grand introduction of Léon. She cannot stand to be in the man's company for any longer, and she glances around quickly, hoping to spot someone to foist him off on.

Her conversation, or rather, argument, with Chuck still looms in the back of her mind as she explains Louis' visit to an intrigued Lily. She pushes it away because it doesn't bode well with the current situation. She will _not_ allow anything to ruin the dinner, which was the perfect informal setting. Blair knew that Lily's invites would only extend to the uppermost tier of society, and as she glances around at the eight or so people milling about, she knows Lily has made the right choices.

There are the Hastings, whose extensive properties and prestigious bloodlines in England rendered them nearly royalty; the Kleinharts, who hardly ever deigned to dine anywhere but at their home; the Davises, internationally known for their grand parties; and, of course, the Archibalds, missing Nate. It was inevitable these connections would prove to Léon the worth of the Waldorf name, and Blair believed his mother, Emmanuelle, would eventually see it as well.

Why they would ever choose to associate themselves with the Winters was beyond Blair's scope of reality, but she chooses to ignore it, focusing solely on her mission instead.

Because everything else—Nate's mysterious disappearance, for one, not to mention her argument with Chuck—seem to melt into the background when she introduces Léon to everyone, beaming smile and handshake at the ready.

She has always been good at avoidance.

The short introductions over, and Léon safely ensconced with Greg Kleinhart, discussing New York real estate, Blair heaves a relieved sigh and makes her way over to Eric and Serena. The former is frowning, the latter is simply knocking back another glass of champagne.

Something is most definitely wrong, but as soon as Serena spots her, she plasters on a bright smile.

"B!" she exclaims, and Blair is nearly crushed by her crippling hug. "You look _amazing_."

"Thank you, S," Blair says, stepping back to smooth down the skirt of her one-shouldered dress, a spray of golden foliage decorated the bottom half of the skirt, and a swooping shoulder completed the look. "Please tell me you're not drunk."

Serena shakes her head no, and Blair scrutinizes her carefully. Truth be told, Serena looks more nervous than drunk.

"Eric," Blair acknowledges the younger boy, who nods at her, his expression grave.

"Serena," Blair draws out the word, glancing around coyly. "Where's Cabbage Patch?"

"_Dan_," Serena says in slight annoyance, "is with Rufus at a gallery opening. They decided to sit this one out."

Blair smirks. "The smartest move they've had all week. I was hoping I didn't have to explain to Léon why there were commoners present."

Serena rolls her eyes. "Sure, B."

"So Dan isn't here," Blair says, her coy smile returning.

"No," Serena says, hoping against hope that Blair's smile has nothing to do with—

"Will you entertain Léon?" Blair nearly pleads, her smile beguiling.

"I thought that was your responsibility," a voice comes from behind them, and the three whip around to face an unfazed Chuck Bass.

But before Blair can retort, her eyes land on the girl who has just entered behind Chuck.

One Kelly Winters.

And Blair sees red.

…

"I can't believe he brought her here," Blair whispers to Serena, glancing sideways to ensure that Léon is still engrossed in a conversation about the pros and cons of apartment renovations. It is a conversation she has no interest in, and Blair wonders if anyone at the table is as bored by the man as she is.

It may pain her to say it, but Blair knows without a single doubt that no one will ever truly compare to Chuck. Not in her eyes, at least.

But his comments from earlier that afternoon, no matter how accidental, still hurt. She knows he did not consciously mean the words, but the infliction is enough—that he thought them, even without knowing the entire story, is enough. It is enough to convince her that keeping their relationship a secret is a good idea.

This way, she thinks triumphantly, she can continue her life as though nothing has happened. Gossip Girl will not add to the damage this time, as she usually does.

In truth, Blair knows they will move on from this, eventually. She is tired of fighting—fighting everyone else, fighting Chuck, fighting them, fighting _herself_. She just wants to be happy. But she also knows that the trust Chuck must regain will not come easily. That today is just proof of how volatile he can be, how jealous. And while the latter trait is sometimes amusing, Blair has seen firsthand the damage it can do.

Forcing herself away from her thoughts, Blair loosens her grip on her fork, focusing on Serena instead.

"He didn't," Serena is insisting, "he didn't bring her."

"She's _here_," Blair hisses back. "She was never on the guest list. I suppose I do have to thank Lily for seating Chuck on the opposite end."

Serena shakes her head again. "No, B. She wasn't invited, but the Winters invited themselves, then backed out—Kelly came in their place."

Blair frowns, letting the statement sink in. "But—"

"Chuck dropped us off here then went somewhere. I guess to pick up Kelly—"

"He _is_ trying to sabotage me," Blair groans. "Serena, did you tell him? I swear to God—"

"I told him, but he's not sabotaging you," Serena whispers back, a little too loudly as she receives a warning glare from Lily. "He's not, Blair. Eric moved the place cards earlier, so that Chuck's would be next to Kelly's and as far away as possible from you and Léon. He was acting on Chuck's orders, I guess."

"He's…helping?" Blair asks, voicing her disbelief.

Serena shrugs. "I couldn't believe it either. He must really love you, B."

Serena is pulled into a conversation by Marie-Anne Davis, and Blair is left to herself for a moment.

And that moment is consumed by one thought.

_Chuck really must love you._

Then Léon turns to her with a smile, thanking her for introducing him to "such a winsome and engaging group of individuals".

And the moment is lost.

…

Chuck isn't quite sure what to think, as he watches Blair intently. Kelly, however intelligent her machinations may be, is droning on in his ear, and he wonders if this is worth it.

But then Blair catches his eye, before glancing away quickly, the barest hint of a blush alighting her cheeks.

He smirks, as he scrapes his chair back, excusing himself with an indifferent nod. Making his way towards the adjacent hallway, he allows his fingers to brush by Blair's bare shoulder as he passes.

She shivers visibly, so visibly that Léon asks if she is cold.

And Blair shakes her head no, her eyes following Chuck as he walks away.

"You should go after him," Serena pipes up from beside her, voice decidedly innocent as she cuts her asparagus.

Blair merely raises an eyebrow.

"It's easier if you two are together," Serena explains. "Apart it feels like you're fighting every two minutes."

Blair's expression turns slightly irate, but she allows Serena to continue her quiet advice.

"And you know he loves you. So go after him, Blair."

When Blair remains sitting, Serena throws her a look of exasperation.

"And I'll protect Léon from Kelly," Serena relents.

Blair's smile is beatific as she excuses herself, following Chuck's path out the door.

Serena merely shakes her head and smiles at Léon, whose returning smile is polite, if slightly cold.

"How are you enjoying New York?" she asks, propriety coloring her words.

"New York is exquisite," Léon replies, his tone still oddly formal. "I'm enjoying it profusely, thank you."

Serena smiles uncertainly at his solemn tone. How Blair had managed to accompany him for a day is beyond her.

"And how did you enjoy Europe?" Léon asks, and Serena wonders if a sneer is evident, or if is simply her imagination.

"Do you mean Paris?" Serena inquires. "I was there this past summer with Blair, I—"

"Ah, yes, I remember meeting Blair, but not you," Léon interrupts. And before Serena has a chance to explain, continues on. "But not this summer, I was referring to a summer a few years ago. Perhaps you remember?"

The words sting slightly, and Serena _does_ remember a summer spent in Europe a few summers ago. She remembers dancing on tables and accepting shots from strangers. She remembers her desperation to get her father's attention, and exactly how much it hurt to be shunned by her own father.

"It wasn't one of my finest summers," Serena explains levelly, although it is now clear why Léon has a particular distaste for the blonde. "I do apologize for taking up unnecessary room in your tabloids."

Léon waves it off easily, swallowing and smiling viciously at Serena. "Apology accepted, of course. But Serena—may I call you Serena?" She nods, and he continues on, "Serena, you don't remember my last name, do you?"

"Desmarais?" Serena asks, confused. Blair has mentioned the name so often recently that it is almost impossible for her _not_ to remember the name.

"And it doesn't sound familiar to you at all?" Léon prods, and Serena's frown deepens. She does remember thinking the name was vaguely familiar—but she attributed it to the name's prestige.

"No," Serena says slowly, unable to come up with any explanation to Léon's odd line of questioning. "Should I?"

"Of course not," Léon says, almost disappointed as he settles back down in his own seat, reaching for his wine for the first time that night.

His voice is almost triumphant, Serena thinks uneasily. She racks her mind, but is unable to come up with anything.

Taking a sip of her own wine, Serena makes sure to enlist Blair's help later on.

…

"Waldorf."

"Bass," Blair says, whipping around suddenly, movements slightly frantic. She had started down the same path Chuck had, only to turn off into another hallway, and into the bathroom. Apparently, Chuck had heard her, for he was leaning against the opposite wall, dark eyes unreadable.

Blair mentally scolds her heart for beating so loudly, lest Chuck hear and know the exact extent of how his presence affects her.

"You weren't—" Chuck says, his voice slightly accusatory.

"No," Blair interrupts, voice firm. "But you knew that."

Chuck merely shrugs. He had heard Blair, only she would have taken off her shoes in order to make sure she isn't heard by him. But then again, she is Blair and he is Chuck—and they are drawn to each other almost inexplicably.

So when he had heard her footsteps disappear down another hallway, Chuck had followed her to the bathroom, situating himself opposite the door.

"I just needed a…break," Blair admits, tone as close to embarrassed as Blair Waldorf could get.

"From Léon?" Chuck asks, unable to hide the elation in his voice.

Blair tilts her head, weighing her options. She knows that making Chuck jealous tonight won't get her anywhere—that was never Léon's role in her game. His role was simply to gain Eleanor access to Paris' royal circle. He was never meant to be an instigator of another all-out Chuck-and-Blair war.

"Yes," Blair says with a heaving sigh—one that Chuck mistakes as relief that she is away from Léon, but in truth, is a sigh of relief that tonight, they are not playing a game.

Chuck smirks. "I knew you weren't truly interested—"

"I was never interested in him, Bass," Blair is quick to interject. "You made that up, not me."

"Serena told me," Chuck admits, "that you were simply using Léon as a tool in Eleanor's game."

Blair shrugs, "She's my mother," she says simply. Then, narrowing her eyes. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Avoiding Kelly Winters," Chuck mumbles.

"You always did prefer them not talking," Blair says with a laugh.

"Excepting you," Chuck states, and their eyes lock for a moment, and they both realize the truth in that statement.

"Chuck—"

"You know me better than I know myself," Chuck interrupts, "you I can't stand the thought of you with someone other than myself. Do you even understand how difficult it is to see some other man even daring to _look_ at your perfection?"

"I didn't tell you about Léon because I knew you would be jealous," Blair admits. "But also because I didn't want to admit how weak-willed I am when it comes to my mother."

Blair sighs quietly, leaning back against the wall, "I didn't _want_ this, Chuck. Eleanor wanted an in with Parisian royalty, and she saw an opportunity with Léon. And she saw me as the perfect pawn to use in her game.

"And I—I was weak enough to allow her to do so."

There is a sharp intake of breath at the close of her sentence, as if Blair has just realized the veracity of her words. That somehow, by saying it aloud, to Chuck, she has realized the problem with the entire situation.

"I was never pursuing a relationship with Léon," Blair says, her tone oddly formal—she wonders if Léon is rubbing off on her, and she shudders at the thought. "And it was preposterous of you to think so."

"I overreacted," Chuck relents. "And I'm sorry."

There is a moment, between Chuck's words and Blair's response, when he truly believes that she will forgive him.

Then he remembers that this is not the only time he has overreacted—that his jealousy may have been more than a simple issue between them—and he doubts that forgiveness is in his future.

"You're sorry?" Blair asks hollowly. "You're always sorry, Chuck."

"And I do mean it," he says earnestly. "I'm Chuck Bass. And I screw things up. But you're Blair Waldorf. You're not a pawn in anyone's game but your own. And until you realize that, you'll never accept yourself."

"I'm not the one preventing this relationship from going forward," Blair shoots back, tears stinging at the edges of her eyes. "Don't you dare insinuate that, Chuck."

"I'm not," he recoils, "but you were the one who suggested we keep _this_ a secret."

"Because I knew it would be like this!" Blair explodes. "Because I knew that once we were happy, it wouldn't last for long. At least if we weren't together publically, the blow would be lessened. At least if we were a secret, I wouldn't have to fear that I don't trust myself with you."

Blair pauses, and she knows her next words are a mistake before they leave her mouth. But it is a thought that has been brewing in her mind a long while, and she knows that this is the right thing to do. The right mistake to make.

"And I don't trust you," she finishes.

Chuck's response is immediate. His jaw clenches, his eyes turn several shades darker, and he makes a slight movement, as though he is attempting to move towards her, but also attempting to hold himself back.

At war with himself.

Just like she is with herself, Blair realizes. That she is as much a pawn in her own game as Chuck is in his. That their only enemy lies not outside of them, but in each other.

"But you were right," Blair says quietly. "I'm weak because I can't stand up to my own mother. I'm weak because I refuse to stop warring with myself."

They stand there, Blair looking at Chuck, her expression a mixture between hope and despair—and Chuck looking as though some internal battle is taking place.

"You don't trust me," he begins slowly, addressing the first issue that he cannot understand. "I don't blame you."

"I know you're sorry," Blair tells him. "And I forgive you. But I can't trust myself with you. And I can't trust you. Not yet."

"Not yet," Chuck repeats. "When?"

"I don't know," Blair admits. "I keep thinking that one day, I'll wake up and you'll be there, and I'll know that it's the day I start trusting you again. But that's one day—and we both know those don't really exist."

"No," Chuck agrees. "They don't."

_Because I'm going to get it back. It's only a matter of time._

Timing was never their strong suit.

"How do I prove it to you?" Chuck blurts out, and the desperation is beginning to seep through his voice, and he utterly hates himself for it.

"You can't," Blair says sadly. "Because I don't even know what you can do. I just don't know, Chuck."

"We can't end things like this," he almost begs. "Not like this."

"We're not ending things," Blair says, and she shakes her head and blinks her eyes rapidly. But the tears continue to fall.

"What do we have, then?"

"Tonight."

_So shut up and dance with me._

Chuck sits down next to Blair, who, over the course of the conversation, has sunk down to the floor, curls spilling across one bare shoulder, disheveled as Blair Waldorf will ever get.

Placing her head innocently on his shoulder, Blair sighs contentedly, and Chuck thinks, that if they could stay in this moment forever, it would be perfect.

But perfection is overrated and nothing comes closer to perfect than _im_perfect, after all. And so Chuck learns to accept that where they are is exactly where they need to be. They have both realized the consequences of scheming against each other, rather than together. And Blair has all but accepted their inevitability—and by extension, his (future) proposal, he thinks with a small smirk.

Through the past two months, they have somehow grown into different people—who are essentially still the same.

And Chuck is completely fine with that.

…

"Nate."

Jenny looks at him firmly, not allowing herself to be drawn in by his expression.

"You won't tell anyone," Jenny commands. "No one, Nate. Not even Dan. _Especially_ not Dan."

"They deserve—"

"This is best for everyone," Jenny tells him with a sigh. "We've been over this. If they don't know, they'll be better off. I'll have this baby and give it up for adoption, and everything we'll be fine."

"It won't be just fine," Nate argues. "Do you think Chuck would want his child given up for adoption?"

Jenny pauses, as she always does when the conversation turns to the paternity of her unborn child.

"Nate," she changes the topic quickly. "Just don't tell anyone, okay? If you meant what you said—that maybe we could…we could be together, after this is all over, if you _care_ for me, you won't tell anyone."

Nate nods.

…

"We should get back," Blair says, her voice slightly muffled. Chuck shifts slightly, looking down at her, and she blinks up at him.

"You don't want to," he tells her.

Blair considers this.

"Listening to Léon's theory on the recession and why the Parisian government is superior to America's is enthralling," Blair says drily.

"So I suppose I wasn't doing you a favor, keeping Kelly away," Chuck deadpans.

"No," Blair says, "I don't know how the bitch got an invite, but at the very least, she's hasn't even formally met Louis. If it weren't damaging to my plan, I'd introduce them. It seems like they'd be the perfect match."

"They would be," Chuck comments. "Stay here with me."

"And leave Léon to fall into Kelly's claws?" Blair shudders. "I think not."

"This is your mother's war," Chuck reminds her. "Not yours."

Blair contemplates this for a second. Chuck's words have a truth to them, she thinks. And though sitting on a floor—though probably clean enough to eat off of—is not her idea of an enjoyable evening, Blair knows that this is preferable to being seated next to Léon.

Blair leans back, allowing herself to relax fully for the first time that evening.

"So we stay here," she remarks.

"Unless you'd like to try out Eric's bed," Chuck challenges, but the joke falls flat.

"Serena should manage to stave the bitch off for now," Blair says, as though her staying in the hallway is of no consequence. "And I don't think Eric would appreciate that. Besides, how did you manage to have her arrive late? The Winters are notorious for being ridiculously early."

Chuck smirks, and Blair cringes at the thought, an unfamiliar flare of jealousy erupting in the pit of her stomach.

So that is jealousy, she thinks. Not the kind she has been accustomed to whenever she sees a flash of blonde hair and an omnipresent golden tan. Not the same anger she used to feel when she heard Nate laugh at Serena's jokes.

This, she thinks, is what loving someone is like. It is loving them so fiercely that you almost lose all sense of self.

"I never touched her. I bribed her housekeeper to misplace her shoes," Chuck admits after a second. And there is a sigh, albeit a quiet one, of relief from Blair. "And as for Eric…I'd just offer to buy him a new bed."

Blair raises her eyebrows. "Not your finest work. And bribing Eric, really, Bass?"

"I was thinking in the moment," Chuck shoots back. "Normally, I'd have you to scheme with. Eric's used to bribes, he's the youngest."

"I suppose I should have asked for your help," Blair says thoughtfully. "Who would've thought you'd be _helpful_ of your own free will, Bass? Certainly not someone who bribes their younger brother. Although," Blair sighs quietly, "sometimes I was jealous of Serena having a little brother. She was never lonely growing up.

"Only for you," Chuck replies faux-solemnly. "And you didn't grow up lonely, Blair. You had Serena. Nate. Your minions."

"The preschool ones?" Blair asks with a laugh. "They were even more incompetent than my NYU ones, _and_ even as a preschooler I knew that. But no, I didn't _have_ them, Chuck. They had each other."

"Then you had me," Chuck tells her. "Even if my sole purpose was to annoy you and pull out your pigtails."

"Dorota used to use extra-strong hair ties because of you," Blair admonishes him with a laugh.

But within the story, there is a truth. Though his sole purpose had always been to annoy her, to toy with her and to irritate her, Chuck has always been there for her. When she had hoped to see a blonde head, she had seen Chuck instead, expression abnormally concerned.

Blair rolls her eyes slightly, but the smile on her lips is one of contentment.

"But we really should go back," she huffs, "I left _Serena_ in charge of him."

But she remains in her place.

"Eleanor shouldn't be asking you to do her dirty work," Chuck tells her. And Blair shakes her head.

"Being a glorified tour guide isn't my idea of a perfect day," Blair relents. "But she's my mother. And even if she's in Paris, I'll always feel the need to prove myself to her."

She knows that Chuck has more experience with this than anyone. That his yearning for Bart's approval has transcended even Bart's death, as evidenced by him trading her for the Empire.

"You're Blair Waldorf," he states. "And that alone should be enough for her."

"This _is_ Eleanor we're talking about. I'll never be enough for her—"

"You're enough for me," Chuck says stubbornly, and Blair's eyes lock with his once more.

And suddenly, they're not talking about Eleanor any longer.

"I can't change," Chuck begins. "I'm Chuck Bass and I make mistakes. I'll always screw up, some way or another. But I'm Chuck Bass. And I love _you_."

The tiny gasp from Blair does not go unnoticed by him.

"I love you, too," she breathes. And the words are like a spark, and in seconds, his hands are in her hair, her polished fingernails clutching his shoulders.

The familiarity of it is comforting. The way his hands move from her hair to her shoulders, blazing a trail of fire down her exposed shoulder. Their breaths are wild, loud enough that when they finally pull apart, eyes dark, chests heaving, Blair hopes that no one has dared ventured out to find them yet.

"Can I ever trust you again?" Blair asks quietly, steeling herself for his answer.

"I learn from my mistakes," Chuck responds simply. Blair considers this, then leans forward, pressing her lips to his.

The kiss is short, sweet.

It feels like goodbye.

"Chuck?" Blair says, as she starts down the hallway. "Thanks."

Before he can ask, she answers his unspoken question. "For distracting Kelly. You could have sabotaged this for me, but you chose to help me. Thanks, Bass."

"Anytime, Waldorf."

The departure is bittersweet, but Chuck notes one thing. That they have _both_ learned from their mistakes. Simply because they are no longer warring with each other, but finding common ground and fighting _together_. Beyond that, Blair had essentially chosen him over her Mother, choosing to sit in a hallway with him instead of at a dinner table, next to Léon.

His step is noticeably lighter when he starts down the hallway.

…

"You're back," Serena says in relief, and she notices the flushed cheeks, the swollen lips—and she frowns. "You were gone for a while, B."

"One can only take so much conversation about topics as mundane as Parisian government," Blair retorts. Serena doesn't push it. Chuck slides into his own seat, farther down the table and next to a slightly irate Kelly.

"What happened?" Serena inquires, but as most of her inquiries regarding Chuck and Blair go, Blair merely shakes her off.

"Nothing. What did I miss?"

"Er, dinner?" Serena says, confused. "They're about to bring out dessert."

Blair smiles apologetically to Lily, before crafting a lie for Léon, while simultaneously mentally replaying her conversation with Chuck.

…

"You're not going to tell me what happened between you and Chuck, are you?" Serena says in the elevator, and Blair berates herself for not pulling someone else into the elevator with them when she had the chance. With other people present, Serena's inquiries could have been staved off for a longer time. Léon, she supposes, would have been the obvious choice. But he had already left five minutes earlier, with promises to call Blair the next day.

"Later," Blair says dismissively, not because she won't tell Serena, but because she's not quite sure what to make of their conversation. "Did I hear correctly, S? Did Kelly wish Léon goodnight and ask him to call her tomorrow?"

Serena cringes, and all thoughts regarding Chuck and Blair are stemmed. "You were gone a long time, B. I couldn't exactly occupy two seats at once."

"You let her take my seat?" Blair asks, scandalized.

"My mom looked like she wanted to throttle Kelly, but Marie-Anne distracted her with talk of the unreliability of interior designers."

"And Kelly probably shares Léon's unremarkable interests," Blair says with a sigh. "They're perfect for each other."

"I don't know," Serena says warily. "If anything he seemed irritated by her."

"Irritated?" Blair perks up.

"Until they started talking about government," Serena explains with a cringe. "Apparently Kelly is looking into politics."

Blair groans. "My mother is going to kill me."

Serena is quiet for the rest of the elevator ride, and as they cross the lobby, heels clicking simultaneously against the marble, an angry staccato from Blair, a calmer version from Serena.

"Was it worth it?" Serena asks, completely out of the blue as Blair slides into the town car.

A pensive, almost wistful expression overtakes Blair's features.

"Yes."

* * *

tbc


	15. Chapter 14

**AN: Just for clarification, I'd planned Recollection as one big journey leading to a reconciliation (And to quote my fantastic beta, bethaboo, "a _real _reconciliation, not just a temporary one") between Chuck and Blair. And while the journey may be a puzzling one ridden with equal parts gleeful and sorrow, I do have that happy ending in place, promise! As always, thanks for all the generous love and support - especially to bethaboo - and enjoy!**

* * *

"Blair?"

"In here!" Blair calls, and Serena makes her way over to the door of Blair's walk-in closet, wondering how best to broach the subject at hand.

"Do you have class today?" she asks tentatively.

"Three," Blair answers with a weary sigh. "But between my ten o'clock and one o'clock, I have to take Léon out to lunch. He's meeting with some associate or other before that. He leaves tomorrow, and I'm just hoping Kelly didn't influence him _too_ much."

Her last words are slightly accusatory, and Serena blushes in slight embarrassment.

"About Léon," she begins warily.

"Yes?" Blair asks in irritation, stepping in front of her mirror and examining her outfit. "I'd apologize for leaving him with you all night, but you didn't even manage to keep Kelly away."

"You were gone for a little over an hour," Serena points out defensively. "But that's not what I wanted to ask. Have I met Léon before?"

Blair furrows her brow, "No, you were out with some waiter or other the day he came over for lunch."

"That's what I thought," Serena insists. "But before that, do you remember me mentioning a Léon Desmarais before?"

"What are you getting at, S?" Blair says exasperatedly.

"He mentioned something at dinner. About a summer in Europe."

"You _did_ spend a whole summer in Europe's tabloids," Blair remarks with a smirk.

"I was trying to find my father," Serena defends herself. "But I don't remember ever meeting a Léon that summer."

"I'm surprised you remember that summer at all," Blair comments slyly, a glint in her eyes. Serena sighs, knowing that Blair's wounding remarks are a result of her attempting to _not_ think about Chuck. Which is, of course, impossible.

"That's not the point," Serena insists. "I think Léon might have something on me. Or you—I don't—"

"Serena," Blair says harshly. "You're being delusional. What did he say to you, exactly?"

"Only that his last name should be familiar to me," Serena sighs in defeat.

Blair laughs hollowly, "S, he thinks his last name should be familiar to everyone," Blair shakes her head. "I can't wait to be rid of him."

"So you can be with Chuck?" Serena can't help but quip.

Blair's glare intensifies, but she quickly backtracks, collapsing on a nearby chair. "I don't know."

"Are things really that complicated?" Serena inquires, and Blair considers this, going over the situation in her mind.

"He loves you, and for whatever reason, you love him too," Serena shrugs.

"It's not that simple," Blair argues.

"What else is there to it?" Serena asks. She knows she is being naïve, but she wonders if their problems are really so problematic. It would be easier for everyone if they would simply stay together.

"There's the fact that he sold me for his hotel last year," Blair clarifies.

"As terrible as that was of him, I thought you'd forgiven him," Serena says. "You know he's sorry."

"I know," Blair says quietly. "And I know that he's been through a lot. But I can't help but…"

"But?" Serena prompts.

"But wonder if it's going to be the same, this time. These past few months, and I haven't doubted _us_. But I still don't know if I can trust Chuck."

"You don't trust him?" Serena asks in disbelief.

Blair shakes her head. "No, I don't think so."

"He went to London, and risked coming back through a snowstorm for your Christmas present," Serena points out. In the back of her mind, she laughs at the irony, because here she is, pointing out all that is good (and in her mind, the list is short) about Chuck.

"And all that stuff, about him being jealous—and what happened on New Year's…" Serena shrugs. "That's just Chuck."

"That doesn't equate to trust," Blair reasons. "I love him, but I don't know if I can trust him again."

"Which is why you've been avoiding any sort of public relationship?" Serena asks. Blair looks at her curiously.

"S, have you been spending too much time with Cabbage Patch? You're strangely perceptive."

"B," Serena pushes, knowing that she is simply trying to avoid the question.

"Fine. Yes, that's why."

Serena looks at her for a long moment, gauging the situation.

"I think you should come with me tonight," she says abruptly.

"Where?" Blair asks warily. She had planned to spend the night watching Audrey and catching up on coursework - Léon was to have a private dinner with the French ambassador, or something of the ilk.

"You haven't heard?" Serena's eyes are wide. "The Bass Industries dinner, formally welcoming Chuck back into the company. They're making an announcement tonight. I thought Chuck would have—"

"Oh." Blair colors slightly, remembering that Chuck _had_ mentioned the dinner to her. Between Léon and her confusion, she hadn't remembered.

"You should come," Serena insists. "I'm surprised you weren't before."

Blair frowns. Chuck, secret relationship or not, would have invited her if he had wanted her to come.

"I'll think about it," she relents.

"You'll come," Serena says firmly.

Blair pretends she doesn't hear as she walks out of the room, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

…

"Hello?"

"Blair, it's Léon," and she rolls her eyes, restraining herself from mentioning that Léon's name had flashed on her screen twice already, she just hadn't the gumption to pick up.

"Yes?" she says exasperatedly, checking the time. "I'm about to head to Le Caprice—"

"About that," Léon says smoothly. "I invited someone to join us. You won't mind, I hope?"

"Of course not," Blair says graciously. It is probably one of his associates, or clients, or some other irritatingly boring person Léon is associated with. Blair steels herself for another hour of complete boredom, repeating the same words she has all day.

"One more day," she whispers under her breath.

Not even a minute before she hangs up on Léon, does her phone ring once more. This time, the name on the screen doesn't make her frown. Instead, her heart skips slightly, then pounds loudly in her chest. It is unnerving, in the least.

"Chuck," she answers, and her voice is breathless, for what reasons she's not sure.

"Blair," he says, and she can hear the smirk in his voice. "What are you doing tonight?"

It is the second time she has heard the question, and she has no doubt that it is for the same event.

"I'm not sure," she hedges.

"Dorota told me Léon has a private dinner tonight," Chuck says smugly.

"I do have other obligations and friends beyond him," Blair retorts.

"Serena's coming," Chuck adds. "So that doesn't leave much else, besides—"

But at that moment, her car pulls up to Le Caprice, and she sees an all-too familiar face.

"Serena told me," Blair says quickly. "I'll think about it."

And without another word, she hangs up quickly, exiting the car and stalking over to one Kelly Winters, who is wearing an atrocious blue coat, trimmed with black fur.

"Kelly," Blair all but snarls. "What are you doing here?"

"Meeting a friend for lunch," Kelly responds primly, but the malevolent glint in her eye clues Blair into who exactly the _friend_ was.

"Léon invited _you?_" Blair nearly screeches, but her expression remains calm.

"I didn't realize I was intruding," Kelly says faux-apologetically. "Léon said you didn't have a problem with it."

"Because I thought his guest would be some forty-year-old investor who would discuss politics with him. _Not_ some social-climbing, Le Caprice, —"

"Léon!" Kelly exclaims loudly, and Blair isn't sure if the girl is attempting to save herself from the insults, or to save Blair from the embarrassment of insulting her in front of Léon.

"You know Kelly, yes?" Léon turns to Blair, a winning smile in place.

"Too well," Blair murmurs, but her society smile is in place, though her mind is running a mile a minute. She knew there were consequences to leaving Léon alone at dinner, and though she had expected the worse, she couldn't bring herself to regret what had come to pass in the hallway.

"Shall we?" Blair says tightly, leading the way into the restaurant, cringing when she hears Léon compliment Kelly's choice of outerwear.

This time, Chuck isn't around to save the situation. But as they are led to the table, Blair realizes that she and Chuck may be a match in scheming heaven, but she doesn't _always_ need him.

…

"Something bothering you?" Dan asks, setting a cup of coffee before a brooding Serena.

Serena nods, but doesn't elaborate, her blue eyes unfocused as she takes a sip of her coffee.

"It's Léon," Serena says, after a pause.

"That guy Blair has to show around town?" Dan asks, confused.

Serena nods.

Dan pales slightly, if only because he knows that Serena has a tendency to attract attention without even realizing it.

"Apparently I know him," Serena continues, her voice troubled. "Only I don't remember meeting him before now."

"You know him?" Dan repeats hollowly.

Serena shakes her head. "I don't. But he went on about his last name sounding familiar to me. I _knew_ it sounded familiar when Blair mentioned it, but I thought it was because the Desmaraises are such a prominent family in Paris."

Serena's frown deepens, and Dan senses that there is more to the story, that Serena is holding something back.

He says nothing, only sits back and watches her intently.

After a tense two minutes, she sighs and closes her eyes.

"He mentioned that summer," she says quietly, more to herself than Dan. "That summer I went to find my dad."

And everything makes sense.

…

"This papperdelle is amazing," Kelly coos, and it takes all of Blair's effort _not_ to strangle the girl, who had ordered the exact same dish as Léon—complete with Léon's high-maintenance specifications. Specifications which even Blair had raised an eyebrow at, as she ordered her customary artichoke salad, dressing on the side. Kelly had even agreed with Léon that the original Le Caprice in London was superior to New York's. Blair knew that Kelly hated London on principle—had ever since Chapin's exchange program with British students. Her exchange student had somehow convinced Kelly's then boyfriend to transfer to London to finish out his schooling. Needless to say, it had brought Kelly to a certain level of infamy.

"Exquisite," Léon agrees, taking a sip of his wine. "Speaking of, I must ask Lily who catered last night's dinner. The grilled quail and _terrine de foie gras_ were absolutely marvelous."

"It was," Kelly trills, with a vengeful smirk, Blair notes that Kelly doesn't even attempt to pronounce _terrine de foie gras_. "Though Blair didn't have a chance to try any, did you, Blair? Oh, what a shame."

Blair colors slightly, but keeps her expression neutral as her disappearance is brought up. She watches as Léon's grip on his fork tightens, but she turns to Kelly instead, a steely look in her eyes.

"I wasn't feeling too well," she says frostily, "I've been a little under the weather lately, and Serena was all too kind to allow me to use her room to rest for a bit. Lily had no qualms about me missing a portion of the dinner." The last part is added defensively, and Blair looks sideways to Léon, hoping that he understands the subtext. That Lily, the hostess, hadn't minded—meaning that he shouldn't have either.

"It's the New York weather," Léon declares. "It's absolutely frigid, and you'd been showing me around all day."

"My pleasure," Blair trills, sliding a smirk in Kelly's direction.

"But Charles—" Blair cringes at Kelly's use of Chuck's full name. Only Lily ever called Chuck by his full name, then again, Lily had an archaic dislike for nicknames. "—he went with you, did he not?"

Léon looks at her curiously, and Kelly offers her a simpering smile.

"No," Blair replies shortly, mind reeling to come up with an appropriate expression.

"But he left just before you did, and didn't return till after you," Kelly points out, voice still deceptively innocent.

"He had a business call," Blair says blithely. "Something about a crisis in France."

"France?" Léon echoes, and Blair mentally berates herself for choosing France. Why couldn't she have chosen London? Or Zurich?

"I didn't know Charles had contacts in France," Léon remarks. "Perhaps I should meet him more formally, discuss—"

"Chuck and my…stepfather are close business partners," Blair says quickly. She knows that any mention of Cyrus or Eleanor is crucial at this point. She neglects to mention that Cyrus is a lawyer, one who no longer practiced law, at that. She figures, if anything, she could ask Cyrus to claim that he and Chuck were looking into French properties.

"Cyrus Rose?" Léon asks, then smiles. "Charming man. Your mother, too. She's a delightful woman."

"I'd forgotten," Blair says tactfully, all while watching a fuming Kelly out of the corner of her eye. "Your mother and mine are acquaintances. How is Emmanuelle?"

"Splendid," Léon says, pleased. "And they are acquaintances, though I believe my mother wished to further the acquaintance. Perhaps I should ask her to invite your mother to her next ball."

"A ball?" Kelly nearly screeches, and Blair smiles demurely while Léon frowns at her outburst. "My mother, although she's not in Paris, absolutely _adores_ balls."

The insinuation of her statement is not lost on Léon, who merely smiles tightly at Kelly, before turning to Blair.

"My mother would love to," Blair says cordially. "I'll be sure to let her know to expect a call from Emmanuelle."

"And I'll tell my mother to seat her at our table," Léon says, pleased. "You would be welcome too, of course."

Blair puts on a pained expression, as if there were nothing more important to her than attending a ball in Paris.

"Between Columbia, my work with Junior League, and the internship I will be starting soon, I'm doubtful I could attend. But thank you for the offer."

Though she loved Paris—and balls in general—Blair thinks that another evening spent in Léon's suffocating presence, with the added benefit of her mother's company, could not compare to an evening spent in New York with… Her first thought is Chuck, but she changes it to Serena just as quickly. Serena is a safer option, she thinks.

Blair is all smiles when they exit Le Caprice, Kelly is glowering, and Léon is blissfully unaware of any tension.

Or he is just exceptionally good at pretence. Which, considering his lineage and pretentiousness, is completely plausible

"I suppose I'll see you tomorrow," Léon asks Blair, who nods politely, all genteel smiles as Léon's driver opens the door.

To Kelly, she notices with a smirk, Léon says nothng, merely offers a nod of recognition.

The girl is left fuming as Léon drives off, but before Blair can deploy her last blow in the form of a lasting taunt, she stalks off in the opposite direction, down Fifth.

Laughing, Blair answers her ringing phone, not bothering to glance at the caller id. At this point, nothing can spoil her mood.

"Blair," Serena says frantically, "Blair, I need to talk to you."

"It can wait, S," Blair insists. "Do you remember when I told you Léon was bringing a guest?"

"Yes, it's about Léon—"

"He brought _Kelly_," Blair trills, and for a moment, Serena forgets her news, overcome with the idea that Blair is thrilled about that fact.

"I'm guessing you exacted revenge on the poor girl?" Serena deadpans.

"Poor?" Blair wrinkles her nose. "No, I exacted revenge on the _bitch_. And only because she somehow managed to charm Léon into inviting her in the first place—not to mention, she attempted to condemn me for disappearing last night. And Chuck."

"What about Chuck?" Serena prods.

"She noticed he left, too," Blair admits. "Which, considering he was sitting next to her, isn't too much of a feat. But I probably should warn him that Kelly and Léon are under the impression that he and Cyrus are in some sort of business relationship."

"Your stepfather and…ex-boyfriend?" Serena asks in disbelief.

Blair shrugs. "I figure it won't be too difficult to come up with another story if it's ever brought up again. If Kelly asks, S, tell her I was feeling unwell and went to rest in your room—Chuck had a business call in France with Cyrus."

Serena sighs. "Sure, whatever you want, B."

"Thanks, S!" Blair trills, and Serena has to smile at her friend's good mood.

"I take it you're glad Léon is leaving tomorrow?" Serena asks with a laugh.

"Between Kelly's takedown and him leaving tomorrow, I couldn't be in a better mood," Blair tells her. "Now I can figure out…other things."

Serena knows the exact nature of those _other things_, but she chooses to remain on the safer topic, furthering Blair's good mood.

"Well that makes two of us," Serena says. "I couldn't be happier Léon is leaving, but I should probably talk to him before because—"

"Serena," Blair retorts, "you weren't the one who had to impersonate a tour guide and _show him around New York_. I had to listen to hours on end to his prattle. About politics, business, the college system—I had no idea one person could be so _boring._ His name has prestige, yes, but listening to him is beyond tedious and I don't think I could take another day of it. One more day tomorrow, I suppose."

"But this is for your mother, right?" Serena clarifies. "She'll be so grateful, B."

"Please, this is Eleanor," Blair says with a self-deprecating laugh. "She'll have someone buy me a new tennis bracelet from van Cleef, then ship it over with a note. That's all."

"At the very least," Serena suggests, "she'll be indebted to you."

"Her being welcomed into Paris' inner circle? It would be beneficial for both of us," Blair declares. Serena is about to bring up her news about Léon once more, but she is interrupted by Blair once more.

"Car is being brought around, and I have to finish an assignment before class," she says quickly. "Bye, S! I'll see you at the dinner tonight."

The phone clicks off and Serena sets hers down on the table, chin in her hands. On one hand, she is glad that Blair is attending the dinner, but on the other hand, she is slightly hurt by the dismissal.

"What did Blair say?" Dan asks, entering the room once more. Serena isn't sure if Dan really had to leave, or if he was just avoiding the inevitable fallout.

"Nothing, I didn't tell her," Serena sighs.

"It's probably not a big deal, but—"

"It's not," Serena manages a smile. "Blair's got a lot on her mind right now, I'll tell her later."

"Are you—"

"Yes, Dan, I'm sure," Serena snaps, then blushes slightly. "Sorry, Dan, I'm just not sure what I'm supposed to make of this. I realize that wasn't my finest summer, but I would never—"

"I believe you," Dan says, but he looks slightly troubled.

Serena's eyes light up. "I think I have a way to prove this—but I have to ask Chuck for help."

"You sure that's wise?" Dan asks skeptically.

"I'll say it's for Blair's benefit," Serena says with a laugh.

…

When Nate arrives back in the city, his first stop is the Empire. But before he can enter, he stands before the entrance, bag in hand, an overwhelming feeling of guilt threatening to crush him.

And before he knows it, he is sprinting down the block, running after a cab he has just recently exited. When the surprised driver stops, asking if he has forgotten anything, Nate shakes his head.

"I need to go somewhere else," he says quickly, getting in the cab once again.

"Where to?" asks the befuddled cab driver.

"Anywhere but here," Nate says flatly.

…

Serena checks her phone, checks the clock (just in case her phone is off), and glances up the stairs for the millionth time.

Blair, whose punctuality practically defines her, is late. Serena had gone back to the van der Woodsen penthouse to pick up her dress—Lily insisting that she wear the blush-hued gown. It is not normally something Serena would wear, but she has the sneaking suspicion that Lily does not trust her to choose her own dress.

Nevertheless, the gown drapes beautifully, and Serena knows that even Blair will approve. Blair, who Serena has been waiting for. A rarity.

Serena had asked her to meet her in the lobby, but Blair's irate text had insisted they wouldn't be late if Serena would wait _just a few more minutes_. The minutes drag by, and Serena still sees no sign of Blair, whose door remained closed.

She is hesitant to knock on the closed (and presumably, locked) door, if only because she has the impression that Blair is not late because of vanity, but because of nerves.

But when she checks her watch for the hundredth time, and for the first time in her life, worries that they will be late, Serena steels herself and ascends the steps.

There is no running water, she thinks gratefully. The fear still lingers, but as Serena nears Blair's door, her ears strain to hear another sound.

The sound of sobbing is—thankfully—absent, and all Serena can hear is a quiet pacing, so quiet she isn't sure she can hear it until she knocks on the door, and the sound stops entirely. Hurried footsteps approach, and the door swings open suddenly.

"I thought I told you to wait," Blair snaps.

"It's getting late," Serena hedges, noting that Blair is fully dressed—in a strapless, slim-fit, full-length gown, no less. A few stray strands of hair escape her otherwise flawless updo, and her makeup is impeccable.

It is the nerves, Serena decides.

"Blair," Serena says gently, all thoughts of being late rushing out of her head.

"No, Serena," Blair says, backing away. "I don't need this."

"You don't want to go," Serena states, ignoring Blair.

"Of course I do," Blair corrects. "I'm dressed, aren't I?"

"Then why aren't we in the limo?" Serena challenges, hoping that her twisted form of reverse psychology would work—if only this once.

When Blair remains silent, Serena knows exactly what to say.

"Blair," Serena interrupts her, hands on the brunette's shoulders. "You love Chuck. He loves you. It's that simple."

"It's _not_," Blair insists.

"If you love him, you'll find a way to trust him again," Serena tells her. "Or, Chuck will find a way to convince you, I'm sure," she adds sardonically.

And Blair, who can no longer find an argument in the blonde's words, merely nods, grabbing her clutch off her vanity.

"I'm ready."

As Serena follows her down the stairs, she's not quite sure _what_ Blair means by her statement.

She's not sure if Blair means she is ready to leave, or if she is ready to finally accept that she and Chuck are meant to be together.

Judging by the earrings and matching necklace (which Blair has worn so often it may just become her signature) and her determined expression, Serena deems it the latter.

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tbc


	16. Chapter 15

**AN: Apologies for the late update - it is partially my fault, but partially FF's. Alerts have been arriving late, and this has been the first time this week I've been able to log in & submit. In any case, thanks for all the lovely reviews, and enjoy!  
**

**Thanks to bethaboo for her fantastic beta-ing skills, and to SaturnineSunshine for her incredible insight (worship her, because this chapter - the ending in particular - wouldn't be what it is without her.)**

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True to Lily's style, the grand ballroom of the Palace is decorated lavishly, every detail perfect, from the silverware placement to the impressive line-up of gloved waitstaff (all of whom possess far superior cater-waiter skills than Dan Humphrey, in Blair's opinion).

Blair approaches the event as Serena's plus-one, which confuses both Lily and the rest of the head table, who had expected one of two things: that Blair receive an invite of her own, which was entirely conceivable, but Lily, in her rush to plan the event, had merely thought she would arrive as Chuck's guest.

Instead, Chuck arrives alone, dapper in a sharply cut tuxedo and purple bowtie, his waistcoat a silvery-purple, which matches the tone of Blair's dress exactly.

It is not the first time they have matched without prior planning, Blair thinks with a smile as she takes her place beside Serena. The blonde, who has belatedly realized an error in her plan—that bringing Blair meant leaving a relieved Dan behind—looks as though she cannot wait to escape the dinner.

Chuck shows no outward signs of surprise when he notices Blair, merely nods her way, a slight smirk on his features as he is accosted by yet another well-wisher. They swarm Chuck, congratulating him on becoming involved with his father's company once more. But behind the admiring smiles and hearty chuckles, there is a barely noticeable layer of disgust, of jealousy.

But Chuck takes it all in stride, shaking hands and accepting business cards—how anyone could hand out _business cards_ at a formal event is beyond Blair, but she doesn't dwell long on the oddity.

Instead, she approaches Lily with her customary society smile.

"Blair, darling," Lily trills. "Lovely to see you, as always."

"Lily," Blair returns. "Apologies for missing a portion of the din—"

Lily waves it off. "I noticed Charles left as well. As long as I'm not overstepping, I wish you two—"

"We're not together," Blair says quickly, but the words are mechanic. After spending so long denying them, Blair finds that it comes all too naturally.

"No?" Lily says, eyebrows raised. Blair waves off the subject. "And thank you for throwing the dinner. Léon enjoyed himself."

"That much was clear," Lily says drily. "Although I'm not sure the cook appreciated his 'small suggestions' for the soup."

Blair shares a coy smile with Lily, who quickly reverts back into society mode.

"In any case, thank you for joining us tonight, Blair. I'm sure Charles is grateful for your support."

Lily begins to turn to the next guest at her elbow, but Blair, throwing all caution out the window, interrupts her movements with a hand to her elbow.

"Lily," Blair says urgently. "I suppose there'll be a portion of the evening allocated for speeches?"

"Yes, of course," Lily says in surprise. "I'm to congratulate and formally establish Charles' return to Bass Industries, and Mr. Kieling is going to give a short speech as well. Charles is to give a speech next, if all goes as planned."

"However unorthodox it may be," Blair suggests, "would you mind slipping me into the schedule? After you give your speech, perhaps?"

Lily looks taken aback by the unconventional suggestion, but at Blair's earnest expression, she softens.

"I'll see what I can do," she concedes. And the soft smile Blair receives in return is agreement enough. "But perhaps you could go after Rob, maybe introduce Charles?"

Lily's last suggestion is said mischievously, in the least, and at Blair's slightly reluctant nod, asks a quick question.

"This has nothing to do with a war between the two of you, correct?" Lily says faux-sternly and Blair blushes slightly.

"Of course not," she states, and then walks off quickly in the opposite direction of the table.

She has a speech to write, she thinks determinedly, as she grabs a pen out of her clutch and the only paper she can find within its silvery lining—a receipt from Duane Reade.

Better than nothing, she thinks.

But when she sits down on a cushioned stool, mentally thanking Lily for hosting in a venue where the bathrooms boasted cushioned stools and large, gilded mirrors, she finds herself at a loss for words.

A few hours prior, she had been dressing for the event, choosing her dress and knowing that although her new Mikimoto necklace would match the dress perfectly, she would wear another set of jewellery.

There had been a moment of quiet respite, one that didn't include thoughts of how best to subtly suggest Emanuelle wear a Waldorf Original, or what she was to do in order to further thwart Kelly's plans, and that had been when everything became clear.

Serena had been right all along. Blair had found herself fighting them so long she couldn't see that it truly was simple.

If Chuck loved her, and she loved Chuck, that should have been enough. She had forgiven him for his past misgivings—and he had been more than repentant.

Blair knows she couldn't trust him partly because she couldn't trust _herself_ around him. Because he isn't something she could control. Hell, _she_ couldn't control herself around him, and there were many instances (late, and or missed classes, charity events, and giving into his suggestive smirk in the most inappropriate of places) to back that theory up.

Blair knows herself through and through. Control and reputation are undoubtedly two of the most important things two her—two of the things that define Blair Waldorf.

With Chuck, she loses control.

With Chuck, her reputation changes.

She cannot control him, much less her feelings towards him, and this is what ultimately scares her. She can't trust Chuck not to break her heart again, especially when it is so newly repaired—but at the same time, she can no longer being without him.

It is as if he has become a part of her, and as narcissistic as it sounds, Blair thinks that she has become a part of him as well. They are so entwined in each other's worlds that separating the two has become impossible.

Just as much as she cannot trust Chuck to leave her heart intact, he must harbor the same fears that she will hurt him as well.

So this is love, she thinks.

Because as much as her heart is already Chuck's, his (purportedly non-existent) heart is already hers. And perhaps one day in the uncertain future, she will break his heart—or he will break hers.

But as of now, Blair is safe in the knowledge that she trusts Chuck.

Maybe she always has.

…

"Have you seen Blair?"

Serena jumps at the sound of her best friend's name, and at the sound of Chuck's voice, which has come from seemingly nowhere.

"She left some time ago," Serena says, suddenly realizing exactly how long ago that was.

"She left?" Chuck asks, keeping the alarm from his voice.

"Her clutch is still here," Serena gestures towards the mauve silk on Blair's chair. "She couldn't have gone far."

"Who couldn't have gone far?" Eric asks, approaching his two siblings and running his hand through his hair, ruining Lily's recent ministrations.

"Blair," Chuck and Serena say at the same time. Ironically, Serena's voice is alarmed while Chuck's is calm, if only a forced calm.

"I saw her exiting the restroom a few minutes ago," Eric offers. "She looked really…agitated? She kept pacing up and down the hallway, before reentering the restroom."

"You don't think—" Serena looks questioningly at Chuck, who shakes his head.

"No," he says firmly. Because he has always been the one who knew Blair the best—and he refuses to think that she is doing _that_ anymore.

"I should go check up on her," Serena says worriedly, getting up of her seat.

"We're about to—"

"I'll be back with Blair in a few minutes," Serena cuts off her brother. "Just don't let mom—"

"I'll go," Chuck says, already starting in the direction of the restroom.

"It's your night," Serena points up, speeding up to catch up with Chuck. For someone who abhors physical activity, he is an excellent speed-walker, she thinks. "I'll go."

But Chuck ignores her, walking purposely towards the restroom.

Serena sighs, keeping pace with her stepbrother

…

"Waldorf."

"Blair!"

The two are mixed into a jumbled fusion of a cry and a drawl. Chuck's voice is low, full of relief and, Serena notices, has the ability to make Blair blush, and subtly hide something behind her back. Serena's cry is mainly relief.

"When you disappeared for so long, we'd thought you had—"

"Run off with another suitor before dinner's even started," Chuck fills in, and Serena shoots him a look.

"Don't be ridiculous, Bass," Blair snaps. Then she smirks, and Serena worries that perhaps Chuck is rubbing off on her a little _too_ much. "I only ever do that with you."

"So you weren't…?" Serena trails off, leaving the question open-ended.

"Of course not," Blair tells her, then notices the ballroom beyond them. "Everyone's taking their seats. We better get back."

The drone of conversation fills their ears as they silently make their way back to their seats. Blair, Serena notices, is still clutching something in her hand.

Curious, Serena speeds up and stops slightly behind Blair, squinting to get a closer look. It looks to be paper, and as she examines it closer, notes the Bergdorf Goodman logo near the top.

Serena wrinkles her brow, confused. Why on earth is Blair carrying around an old Duane Reade receipt?

Her curiosity heightened, Serena cranes her neck to scrutinize the receipt more carefully. She can just barely make out words, not originally a part of the receipt. It is Blair's handwriting, she realizes after a moment. It takes her a moment to recognize her best friend's handwriting, because it is messier than usual, not to mention laden with cross-outs.

"S?" Blair questions, moving her hand out of Serena's sight, and looking at her best friend quizzically. "Are you alright?"

Serena glances up sharply, quickly covering up her curiosity. "Of course, B."

She completely forgets about Léon and Léon's cousin as her thoughts are consumed by the receipt still clutched in Blair's hand.

…

The dinner goes smoothly, this time without Chuck and Blair disappearing, but sitting at the same table, chatting civilly. Not with each other, being almost five seats apart from each other, and an overenthusiastic Mrs. Jillian taking up much of Blair's time, while Mr. Kieling commandeers most of Chuck's time.

They are wrapped up in their separate conversations—Blair on her charity work, Chuck on his re-entry into Bass Industries, but between bites of lobster ravioli and forced smiles, they catch each other's gaze.

And all is right again, it seems.

Serena, who is oddly quiet, mulling over the receipt she had seen, nearly jumps out of her seat when Blair nudges her slightly.

"S?"

"Sorry, I'm just distracted today," Serena apologizes quickly.

"Your mother has been attempting to get your attention for the past five minutes," Blair says with a slightly amused smile. Lily, who has been attempting to regain her wayward daughter's attention, looks frazzled as Serena makes her way to her mother's side.

Blair watches the exchange from the corner of her eye, and when Serena returns, she only rolls her eyes at Blair's questioning look.

"I'm to be more _sociable_," Serena says with a derisive laugh. Blair smirks as well, but notes that Serena has been abnormally quiet thus far.

"I understand you'd rather have brought Dan along as well," Blair begins, but Serena shakes her head.

"No, that's not it."

"Then?" Blair prompts.

"Wh—" Serena is about to ask about the receipt, but the mention of Dan reminds her about the information they have discovered. "Blair, I almost—"

But before she can divulge the information, she is thwarted by Lily, who is making her way to a makeshift stage, skirt of her gown in one hand, microphone in the other.

"Tell me after," Blair says quickly, sitting up straighter and smoothing her skirt. Serena, who knows Blair's propensity for propriety, nods, turning her eyes towards her mother as well.

"Thank you all for joining us tonight," Lily begins, smiling beatifically at the crowd. "As you all know, Charles Bass will be rejoining Bass Industries once more. And we welcome him back with open arms."

There is a smattering of applause at Lily's words, though many, applaud half-heartedly.

"Charles took leave of Bass Industries two years ago, to focus on expanding his own legacy, and creating a name for himself. I am proud to say, that, as my adopted son, Charles has made himself into a man more than worthy of this multi-billion dollar empire. I know his late father, Bart Bass, would be more than proud of what he has achieved."

Lily pauses, and Blair wonders if that part of her speech is unplanned as Lily continues on calmly, listing Chuck's accomplishments in the past year—while glossing over any and all rough patches.

Chuck, Blair notices, seems slightly taken aback, and it wouldn't be too far-fetched to say that Lily's words have a profound effect on him. Chuck, who has always yearned for his father's acceptance and pride—whether in death or life—seems surprised by Lily's statement.

"When I took over for Charles' position in Bass Industries, it was a temporary situation that came out of necessity. And now, as I relinquish my position back to him, I know that not only is he well qualified and more than able, but that he will remain as head of Bass Industries for a long time. He's grown into a man worthy of his Empire. And now, a few words from Robert Kieling, Head of Operations at Bass Industries, and a valued member of the board."

Mr. Kieling, an aging man who has been with Bass Industries nearly as long as Bart Bass had, accepts the microphone, launching into a rather generic speech about a father's pride and a son's achievement. Nevertheless, Blair watches Chuck from the corner of her eye.

Content, she thinks. He looks content.

Her mind travels back to the night she donned a golden Matthew Williamson gown, to a night where Chuck had told her she had gone up _there_ on her own.

She compares that man to the one present, and she thinks that perhaps, he's grown up. Perhaps, a near-death experience and the ensuing realizations have contributed to this. Perhaps it is his determination—whether it was finding her ring in the slums of Europe, or regaining his position at Bass Industries.

Blair isn't sure _why_, but she knows one thing for sure.

Chuck Bass has grown up.

And maybe she has too, she surmises. Throughout the course of the past few months, she has learned to stand on her own two feet—to be Blair Waldorf without anything or anyone defining her. She has learned the true meaning of inevitability, and she has learned not to fight them simply because it is a lost cause.

She's learned how not to fear spontaneity, how not to dread losing control.

The one thing she hasn't learned, she thinks with a rueful smile, is how to say no to her mother.

She is so wrapped up in her thoughts that she doesn't notice Chuck's gaze on her, but when she lifts her eyes to meet his, their eyes lock.

It is thrilling and frightening and hopeful all at once. Because in his expression, Blair can see the lost little boy he once was, pining for his father's acceptance. She can see the question in his eyes, subtly asking if she agrees with all that has been said, she supposes. And she knows that in a few minutes, she will solidify her agreement in all that has been said.

But as of now, her slight nod is the only indication she gives him.

Because she is still Blair Waldorf, after all.

Mr. Kieling wraps his speech up to another round of applause, and Chuck makes a move to stand, prepared to give his own speech. But before he is halfway out of his seat, Lily takes the microphone.

"Before Charles takes the floor, I'd like to invite a close friend of his, Blair Waldorf, to say a few words. Not only has Blair been a source of support and encouragement for Chuck, but I daresay she knows him better than anyone else."

Everyone turns to Blair in surprise as she stands up; making her way towards Lily, smile in place. She glances briefly at Chuck before taking the microphone from Lily's hands, and she suppresses a laugh when she notices that Chuck is still halfway out of his seat—frozen in shock, she supposes.

"Thank you, Lily. Firstly, I'd like to congratulate Chuck on taking his position at the head of Bass Industries once more. His success with the Empire and Victrola are unparalleled for someone of his age."

Blair takes a breath, and she glances down at her congratulatory speech, the one barely readable thanks to the cross-outs and dozens of re-writes.

She tosses the Duane Reade receipt behind her.

"Chuck Bass has never been anyone's best bet for most successful. None of us expected him to be CEO of a multi-million dollar company before his eighteenth birthday. But Chuck's always defied everyone's expectations. He doesn't give up—not even when someone is begging him to. He's persistent, and because of that, Bass Industries will continue to prosper under his direction. It will become a company Bart Bass himself would envy."

The speech has veered slightly from formal to personal, and Blair ignores the whispers because somehow, she can't bring herself to care any longer. She remembers being so overtly conscious of being known as Chuck Bass' girlfriend, or even, being associated with anyone who would tarnish her image of so-called purity.

It's exhilarating, being courageous enough to not care what everyone else thinks.

"Congratulations, Chuck," she finishes with a smile, and a slight raise of her glass. "Your father would be proud of you."

She hands the microphone to an astonished Chuck, and their fingertips brush ever so slightly.

"Thank you," he whispers quietly as she passes.

The heat from his fingertips sets her skin aflame as she walks back to her seat.

"I didn't know you were making a speech," Serena whispers when Blair takes her seat.

Blair merely shushes her with a smile.

"Thank you, Lily, Robert," Chuck pauses for a second, "_Blair._"

Her name seems to stand out from the others'. She would be lying if she claimed it didn't make her smile.

"When I first assumed the position of CEO, I was nowhere near ready to do so," Chuck begins. "Bass Industries has always been a daunting legacy, and in the wake of my father's death, one I wasn't ready to take on. And now, nearly two years later, I am ready to once again undertake the position of CEO at Bass Industries."

Chuck pauses, and his eyes rest on Blair as he weighs his decision to include his next words. They are far from appropriate in this forum, he knows.

Then again, Chuck Bass and propriety have never gone hand-in-hand.

"My father's pride and success can be seen in every aspect of Bass Industries," he states, and his voice is only slightly bitter. "I only hope that I can live up to that same achievement. And that, in the process, remember the importance of family."

His last words are said almost directly to Blair, and she knows the meaning behind them. That Chuck may be as ruthless as Bart was in business, but that he learns from his mistakes. That choosing love over business doesn't make him weak—that perhaps his family, and essentially, _her_, is not something to be thrown away over a business deal, or hotel.

"To the future of Bass Industries," Chuck says, lifting his glass in a toast.

The rest of the room murmurs an assent, as the all take a sip (or two) of their champagne.

Chuck and Blair's eyes remain locked on each other the entire time.

As if the toast were to them, as well.

…

When the dinner is nearly over, a few people already beginning to trickle out the grand double doors, furs clutched in hand, society smiles almost worn out, Serena turns to Blair and demands an explanation.

"What was that all about?"

Blair doesn't answer her directly, only folds her napkin demurely and takes a sip of champagne.

"You were right, S. It's that simple."

"So you do trust him?" Serena prods.

Blair hesitates. "I think I always have."

Serena is about to gloat in her part in bringing them back together, when their phones beep simultaneously. Blair frowns, knowing that this can only signify one thing.

And when Serena reads the headline aloud, her stomach drops.

**Spotted: B ranting about a certain French royal, whom you may have spotted around NYC with B. We hear B is showing **_**L**_** around town as a favor to her mother in France. Whatever could a fashion designer want with French royalty? That question remains to be answered. What a certain French designer's daughter thinks about a certain French royal, though, is clear, thanks to a video sent in anonymously. Ouch. Better watch what you say, B. We hear royalty never forget an incident—just ask Sarah Ferguson.**

Attached is a video, and Blair opens it, heart in her throat.

She recognizes the scene instantly. Her voice slightly muffled, but a select few words are unmistakable—a select few words that convey an undeniable meaning.

Blair meets Serena's eyes in fear. Serena, who is watching the video as well, realizes that it is from her phone conversation with Blair.

"Who—" she begins, but Blair cuts her off.

"Kelly," Blair growls. "I thought she'd left, but apparently not. That _bitch_."

"B," Serena placates. "Maybe Léon hasn't seen the video. He's not exactly in Gossip Girl's demographic."

"Kelly would make sure he sees it, one way or another," Blair groans. And at that moment, Chuck emerges from yet another crowd of well-wishers, phone in hand.

"Blair—" but he is cut off by the shrill ring of Blair's phone, and she sighs as she looks at the name.

_LÉON_.

"Well Kelly wasted no time," Serena comments.

"Kelly?" Chuck questions, and then frowns contemplatively. As if he is already planning the girl's destruction.

Blair ignores the both of them, looking at her phone as though it is a ticking time bomb. It may as well be.

"B?" Serena prompts.

Blair remains frozen, staring at her phone with a crestfallen expression. Her time wasted on Léon in the past two days is wasted—all the fake smiles and faker laughs.

The phone stops ringing, and Blair heaves a sigh.

"My mother won't be happy about this turn of events," she remarks wryly, and Chuck and Serena exchange a surprised glance at Blair's apparent calm.

"Blair?" Serena scrutinizes her best friend. "This ruins everything you've been trying to achieve the past few days—"

"A waste of time," Blair says dismissively. "I shouldn't have bothered. This is Eleanor's scheme, not mine."

The last part is said reluctantly, but with a tinge of quiet relief that only Chuck understands.

He is about to say something, when Blair's phone rings again.

"I never took him as the type to call back incessantly," Blair says with a roll of her eyes, picking up.

"Léon," she says flatly.

"Blair."

There is a barely repressed anger in his voice, but Blair tells herself not to panic. She is done with all of this. Washing her hands of this mess. She is Eleanor's daughter, not pawn.

"I suppose Kelly showed you the video," Blair says, her voice maintaining the monotonous quality.

"She didn't," Léon responds, confused. "Blair, it is rather distasteful to pin this on Kelly. I received an anonymous text message with the video attached."

Apparently Léon _is_ a part of Gossip Girl's demographic.

"As distasteful as it was for her to invite herself on more than one occasion?" Blair shoots back.

"About as distasteful as using me to help your mother gain entry into Parisian society," Léon says venomously. It is the first true emotion he has shown the entire time, Blair thinks ruefully.

"I did truly believe you to be most welcoming, and of the kindest nature," Léon continues. "It appears you were merely putting on a front."

"I—"

"If that video was ever to get out," Léon interrupts, "both your mother and you would be ruined."

"Are you _threatening_ me?" Blair asks in disbelief. At the word threatening, both Chuck and Serena look at her sharply. Serena's eyes are wide with fear—Chuck's eyes are dark, foreboding.

"Merely stating the consequences you didn't seem to understand when saying those appalling things."

"The truth," Blair can't help but clarify.

"I bore you, then? I'd like to point out that a great many people yearn for my insight and conversation."

"A great many people who only associate themselves with you because of your titles," Blair volleys back. She knows that she is digging herself into a bigger hole, but for once in her life, she doesn't care.

Because Léon could ruin her reputation forever, but at the very least, her reputation is ruined because of truth, and not lies.

What is the worth of her reputation, in any case? Blair ponders this for a moment, because she has spent so much time and energy cultivating her flawless reputation. She had Upper East Side Princess down to a tee before losing her virginity to Chuck Bass in the back of his limo—and when that reputation was slaughtered, she simply rebuilt it.

Maybe this is another chance to do the same, she thinks.

"I have never been talked to so coarsely," Léon remarks. "Blair, I truly thought you were more mannerly than this. You may want to watch your words carefully, in the future. You forget who you are speaking to."

Blair laughs, a short, wry bark of laughter.

"Léon," Blair says with a sigh, "I understand your displeasure with the video, and I apologize for my ill temper. But anything that has been said has been said in truth."

"One simpleton girl's opinion," Léon snaps. "Nevertheless, I believe it is best if we discontinue our acquaintance. I'll make the necessary arrangements for tomorrow myself."

"I suppose this is goodbye," Blair says.

The line goes dead before she finishes her sentence.

Blair looks up to see Chuck and Serena wearing matching expressions of awe.

"B…" Serena hedges. "Léon—"

"Could destroy me," Blair says, her voice only slightly resigned. "I realize that, Serena. He could destroy Eleanor if he wanted to, too."

"We could hire someone to claim they are pregnant with his child," Serena suggests lightly, and Blair and Chuck look at her in bewilderment.

Clearly, Serena is not cut out for scheming.

"I wouldn't worry about him," Chuck says, unruffled as though he already has a plan in place, but Blair shakes her head.

"Revenge isn't something Léon would do. He's angry, yes. But he won't destroy either of us—he'll have Eleanor excluded, of course, but he won't ruin her."

"How can you be so sure?" Serena asks worriedly.

"I can't," Blair admits. "But he's not the type for revenge. In any case, it was…worth it. I couldn't pretend anymore, S. I couldn't pretend to be the perfect society darling everyone expects me to be."

"Well I suppose what you just said to him wasn't very darling," Serena remarks drily.

Blair shrugs. "I suppose I don't feel the need to pretend anymore."

She looks directly at Chuck when she says it, and though Serena looks confused at her statement, Chuck understands.

Serena notices the shared glances between Chuck and Blair, and shakes her head, muttering something about taking a cab to Dan's while leaving Chuck and Blair behind.

"About your speech," he starts with a smirk.

"Oh," Blair remembers her purpose for the evening—and every bit of drama involving Léon is forgotten.

"I don't suppose that was part of the original plan?"

"It was…spontaneous," Blair admits.

Chuck raises an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware Blair Waldorf did spontaneity."

"You bring out the worst in me, Bass," she remarks wryly.

"I guess my persistence contributed to two things," Chuck comments.

Blair looks at him questioningly.

"Getting Bass Industries back," he explains. "And you."

The conversation turns from light to something more substantial when Blair looks at him tentatively, and he wraps an arm around her silk-covered waist.

"This isn't going to be a secret anymore," Chuck half asks, half tells her, drawing closer.

"I want everyone to know you're mine," Chuck whispers against her lips.

Blair looks at him for a long moment, then nods, looping her fingers behind his neck and pulling herself closer.

And she kisses him in full view of everyone.

* * *

tbc


	17. Chapter 16

**AN: Thank you for all your reviews - even late (ahem, FF!), they still make me smile. Thanks, as always, to my fantabulous beta, bethaboo.

* * *

**

They don't talk that night.

Well, unless you count _'oh, yes_' and _'you were amazing up there'._

…

"That was an impressive speech, Waldorf," Chuck says, completely out of the blue.

They are sitting across from each other, her small feet in his lap, both clad in bathrobes.

The breakfast spread is both diverse and sumptuous, and as Blair bites into her third panettone French toast, she smiles.

It is the small things, like wearing matching bathrobes and eating breakfast together, her hair unruly and wet, face free of makeup. _This_, Blair decides, _this_ is what a relationship is supposed to be like.

"I missed the Empire's French toast," Blair sighs instead, taking another bite to avoid the subject at hand. Perhaps avoiding is the wrong word. She just doesn't want to ruin the moment. It is too light, too untroubled to bring such matters in.

"You're eating French toast," Chuck notes. "With maple syrup."

"And raspberry honeycomb," Blair adds.

Chuck raises an eyebrow and Blair shrugs. "Maybe I won't fit into Eleanor's sample dresses anymore. But I really couldn't care less."

"You'll still be perfect," Chuck tells her, as he always has.

The difference is, Blair believes it this time.

"I know," she says breezily, all easy smiles and bright eyes as she takes another bite of French toast slathered in maple syrup.

…

"How did the dinner go?"

"Fine," Serena says wearily, pouring herself a cup of coffee from the Humphrey's always-full coffeepot.

Dan raises an eyebrow and Serena slumps down beside him.

"You didn't tell Blair?"

"No," Serena says with a yawn. "But I probably don't need to anymore."

"What happened? I saw the Gossip Girl blast—"

Serena groaned. "Léon blew up at Blair and she…she acted very un-Blair-like."

Dan frowns for a second. "She didn't—"

Serena nods. "She did."

"But she worked so hard—"

"She did the right thing," Serena argues. "I'm proud of her."

Dan nods, though it is slightly reluctant. Serena supposes that the animosity between Dan and Chuck and Blair will never fully disappear.

"So you're not going to tell her?" Dan prompts.

"It's not exactly my finest moment," Serena blushes. "But I will. It'll come up eventually. It's of no consequence to her now, and she's happy."

"She's with Chuck," Dan supplies.

Serena nods.

"Temporarily?" Dan asks, almost fearfully.

"I think for good, this time," Serena says with a smile.

"Thank the Lord," Dan says in mock relief. Serena laughs, but one glance at Dan's expression tells her that perhaps it is not _really_ a joke. In truth, she feels the same way. She's not sure if she can take anymore drama between Chuck and Blair.

They all needed to stay drama-free for the next few months, she decides. It would be the only way for her to regain any sanity left.

"Were you up late or something?" Dan asks, as Serena hides another yawn behind her mug.

"Yeah," Serena mumbles, her sentence interrupted by yet another yawn. "I was going through the tabloids again, looking for—"

Dan shakes his head. "I thought we already verified, there's nothing in there that would—"

"I know," Serena admits. "I just want to be sure, before we make claims—"

"_I_ believe you," Dan tells her earnestly. And Serena has to smile at his reassurance.

"Thank you," she whispers, before kissing him.

…

"What are you doing today?" Chuck asks from the open closet door, as Blair sits in the middle of his—_their?_—unmade bed.

"I don't have any classes, and now that I'm no longer forced to accompany Léon everywhere….nothing, I suppose."

"Nothing?" Chuck asks in slight disbelief.

"Nothing," Blair affirms. "I had nothing planned besides Léon, and now that he's beyond pissed…" Blair shrugs.

"What did you have in mind?" Blair asks as Chuck exits, straightening his bowtie.

He shrugs. "You'll see."

Blair pouts.

Chuck smirks.

He kisses her, and she kisses him back.

It's another hour before they leave.

…

"Nate, you've been away from the city for far too long, I'm demanding—"

"Relax, mom. I'm in the city," Nate placates, pacing around the small motel room that has served as his lodging for the past few days.

"You are?" Anne says, relief clear in her voice. "Then why haven't I seen you—"

"I've been…taking some time off," Nate sighs, "to think."

"About what?" Anne sounds as though he shouldn't have a care in the world.

But it's the opposite, considering Nate's mind is full to bursting and he thinks the guilt could be weighing him down, considering his shoulders are constantly aching.

Then again, it could be the cheap motel's pillows.

"Stuff," Nate supplies unhelpfully, and Anne's disdain is clear.

"Well, get back to the Empire," Anne all but orders. "We need you here, Nate, to keep up appearances."

"Right," Nate says half-heartedly. "Appearances are important."

"You'll return by tonight," Anne insists.

She is about to hang up when Nate interrupts her once more.

"Wait—"

"Yes?" Her voice is clipped, like she can't wait to get off the phone with her only son.

"Do you mind if I stay with you…for a while?"

Nate can practically feel the force of his mother's confusion and derision through the phone.

"Are you and Chuck—"

"I'd rather not stay at the Empire for now," Nate tells her instead.

"Alright," Anne agrees, although she sounds slightly reluctant. "I'll have Paula prepare your room."

"Thanks," Nate hears himself say, before the click is audible.

He sighs, glancing around his dingy surroundings and collapsing on the unmade—and probably infested—bed. The room, with its questionable smell and general decline, is not the best place to mull over things. Sure, it had given him a temporary reprieve from the Upper East Side, but Nate was beginning to think that the Upper East Side would follow him, wherever he went.

The only time it never seemed able to touch him, strangely enough, was when he was with Jenny.

Closing his eyes, he remembers the days spent with her in Hudson. He ignored her distended stomach as best he could, and if he concentrated on her doleful blue eyes instead, he could almost pretend that everything was alright.

Then she would mention something about morning sickness, or would pass a hand over her stomach, because she felt a kick.

It was during moments like those that Nate felt a surge of anger towards Chuck. Though unintentional, he had left Jenny to fend for herself while she was pregnant with _his_ child. Though Jenny had never confirmed it, Nate knew that there could be no other alternative.

Or maybe he just didn't want to think about the alternative. Because being with Jenny makes him feel _free_ again. It makes him forget all about Columbia and society and the pretences he is forced to keep up on a daily basis. With Jenny, he is just Nate.

And he likes _just_ Nate. He isn't Anne's Nate, Chuck's Nate, or Blair's Nate—not even Serena's Nate. He is just…himself.

Problem is, he has a decision to make. If he tells Chuck, all hell will break loose. Nate has no clue what Chuck would do—if he would phone a doctor and demand an abortion, or if he would wave it off, writing Jenny off like another slut he had slept with previously.

Chuck is so unpredictable that Nate can't be completely sure as to what he will do. He deserves to know, in Nate's opinion. But after what happened last year, Nate thinks that perhaps Chuck doesn't deserve anything at all. And Jenny had made him promise. Jenny had trusted him to keep her secret.

Nate isn't going to betray that trust.

But even as he tells himself, for the thousandth time, that he is _not_ going to tell Chuck, the overwhelming feeling of guilt creeps into his mind.

And the whole process starts all over again.

…

"What made you decide to trust me again?" Chuck asks, and Blair turns her gaze from the tinted windows to his hopeful expression.

She shrugs, and his expression falls ever so slightly.

"I'm not sure," she begins slowly, because even she is not sure as to why exactly she trusts him. "I guess I trusted you all along."

"Even after—"

Blair prickles slightly, but her neutral expression remains.

"Even then," she agrees, and her agreement surprises the both of them.

"Maybe not entirely," she amends. "But if I had to choose someone to…say, guard my prized Birkin, or something, I would have chosen you."

Chuck raises an eyebrow.

"Maybe that's not the best analogy," she muses.

"Well," Chuck says, leaning back, "Serena would be the one I was guarding it _from_, so I suppose she's out of the equation."

Blair smiles, but shakes her head. "I mean, I've always trusted you, in some way or another. Even when I tried to deny that you and I would be together again, I _knew_. I knew that it was a futile effort."

"But that—that doesn't make what you did any less…painful," Blair finishes.

They pass three intersections before Chuck responds.

"I know," he says quietly. "And I'm sorry. For all of it. Jack, The Empire, Jenny—"

Blair flinches at the sound of her name. And she wonders if there'll ever be a time when she _doesn't_ flinch.

"Thank you," Blair breathes, although she has heard the apology before. It doesn't make it any less consequential. "And I think a part of it was…me. I can't trust myself around you, Bass."

At Chuck's smirk, Blair swats at him with a smirk of her own. "Not like _that_. Not entirely, at least. I couldn't trust myself to remain Blair Waldorf, instead of becoming Chuck Bass' girlfriend. And appendix. An afterthought."

"You're Blair Waldorf," Chuck says, his voice carrying a note of slight incredulity. "And it'll be a long while before anyone forgets _that_."

"I know that," Blair says, "now. But before, I wasn't sure if I could…if I could be with you, and still be Blair Waldorf. And now…now I _know_ I can be successful in my own right, and still be with you."

"Despite the fact that you'll be Blair Bass one day—" at Blair's half-glare half-shocked expression, he amends this. "Blair _Waldorf_-Bass, you wouldn't be an afterthought."

Blair raises an eyebrow. "Someone's overconfident."

"You yourself said we were inevitable," Chuck points out.

"Besides," he smirks, glancing quickly to make sure the partition is up—they had already forgotten once, and thankfully, nothing had gone too far before Arthur cleared his throat. Loudly. "I'll find some way to convince you."

"I'm sure," Blair smirks, and he kisses her while simultaneously unbuttoning her seersucker shirt. It reminds him of her Constance uniform, which, in turn, reminds him of their sixteen year-old selves, in this very limo.

They've grown up.

But not so much that they're above having sex in a moving vehicle.

Some traditions never die.

…

At first, Blair thinks they are going to The Mark. Though many Sunday afternoons had been spent there, sipping on tea and pretending to consume (or not consume) the various cucumber sandwiches and éclairs, Blair had never considered it one of her favorites. And Chuck's evasiveness in regards to their destination indicated a more noteworthy purpose to their outing.

But the limo cruises past The Mark, and Blair furrows her brow as it continues down East seventy-seventh, towards Central Park.

"Chuck, where—"

But then the limo slows to a stop, and Chuck merely smirks, exiting the limo and holding out a hand to her.

They are outside an apartment building, one that is no stranger to either of them, both having attended dinner parties and brunches there over the years.

Blair's confusion heightens. Are they to lunch with some investor in his apartment with his trophy wife, who will, no doubt, grill Blair on her relationship with Chuck? There is really no other reason Blair sees to be visiting an apartment building—neither of them have a pressing need to move.

The doorman nods at Chuck as though he is familiar with him, and the elevator operator ushers them into the wood-paneled interior and takes them to the eleventh floor, no questions asked.

Wracking her brain, Blair can't recall knowing _anyone_ with an apartment on the eleventh floor of the particular building.

"Chuck—" she begins again, but she is ushered into a clean, spacious apartment, empty of furniture, sunlight streaming from the tall windows opposite.

"Did you—" but she finds herself interrupted by an uncharacteristically uneasy Chuck Bass.

"I bought it," he admits.

"You bought an apartment?" Blair repeats, and though it is not a penthouse, nor a duplex, in this particular building, it is still of impressive consequence.

"I don't want to live in a hotel anymore," Chuck admits. "I've always lived in hotels, ever since I was born—my father never returned to the penthouse he and my mother shared because it reminded him of her too much. I wasn't brought home to a nursery—I was brought to one of Bart's first hotel ventures—the Muse hotel."

Blair listens to this quietly, knowing that the moment in itself is rare—Chuck sharing his childhood is rare.

"We moved around a lot," Chuck tells her, his eyes faraway, "before we settled at the Palace."

Blair understands the meaning behind his story—and his reasoning for purchasing an apartment beyond his needs. Chuck has never had a true home. And while Blair can call her penthouse home, having lived there for her entire life, Chuck doesn't have the same entitlement.

A hotel isn't home.

"It's perfect, Chuck," Blair declares, slipping her hand through his.

"You should have a key," Chuck mentions offhandedly. And Blair breathes a quiet sigh of relief because moving in together is not something she is ready to handle. She is only twenty, she tells herself—and though her relationship with Chuck is one beyond their years, she knows that moving in together would be disastrous.

Blair tilts her head, and begins to nod—before adding a concession.

"Only if I get to decorate it," she demands, only half-joking. Apparently, growing up with a mother who changed paint colors every six months (Harold and Blair had shared a secret joke that they were grateful for the lodge in Aspen and the pied-à-terre in Paris because it gave Eleanor an outlet other than their penthouse) meant that Blair had grown to love redecorating.

"I would…consider that," Chuck says, and Blair arches an eyebrow.

"Because we know your history with interior designers," Blair says, and there is a slight edge of bitterness in her joking tone.

"That was a mistake—," Chuck starts.

"I know," Blair admits. "But I can't help but—"

It's Chuck's turn to interrupt her now.

"There's only you," he vows, sealing the promise with a kiss.

"I know," Blair says indulgently. Then—"I trust you."

…

**Spotted: A certain royal **_**L**_** trading in our very own royalty, Queen B, for K. Don't remember her? Attached is a picture to help you - a very recent picture, snapped just this afternoon of K and L enjoying brunch at Le Pain Quotidien. Looks like B lost her second shot at royalty. But recent pictures from last night show that perhaps B's looking towards New York royalty, instead.**

Blair sighs and puts her phone away, not wanting to allow this to ruin their day. It is dismaying, yes, to see that after two grueling days spent being completely sycophantic to Léon, that Kelly swoops in so easily.

She supposes she should begin preparing for her mother's mental breakdown and subsequent diatribe. At least if Eleanor kicked her out of the penthouse, she could always live in the Empire.

"Do you regret it?" Chuck asks, and Blair shakes her head firmly.

"I told you, I'm done pretending—this was just more proof of that."

"We could always blackmail him," Chuck suggests lightly, but Blair only laughs.

"I suppose I should be above that," she relents. "But I'm not. In any case, we'd be wasting our time. He's as clean as they come."

"My P.I. managed to get information from your Lord," Chuck reminds her, though the memory isn't exactly something the two want to remember. "I'm sure the son of a cousin of a Count won't be _too_ inaccessible."

Blair shook her head. "I doubt he's ever done anything even remotely illegal. He even commented on how I was under the drinking age here—and he's _French_, you wouldn't think he'd mind. I wonder what he would say if I mentioned I had my first glass of champagne when I was eleven."

"Ten," Chuck parries, and Blair rolls her eyes slightly. "And someone with that flawless of a reputation must have something to hide. Look at you."

"Me?" Blair asks in disbelief.

"Perfect daughter, perfect student, perfect girlfriend…perfectly frigid, might I add—" Blair glares at him, and Chuck thinks it might be time to shut up. "Who knew that all it took was one night with me in the back of a moving vehicle to give a free rein to the _real_ Blair. The one who left scratches down my back."

"So you're saying we need to set Léon up with a stripper," Blair remarks wryly, "in order for him to spill his secrets. I'm sure you have at least a dozen on speed dial."

Her tone is only slightly bitter.

"Not with you around, lover," Chuck croons, and Blair turns her head, blushing slightly. "And no. I'm saying that every saint has a past. And Léon...something tells me he has something to hide."

"My mother will be furious when she finds out what happened," Blair agrees.

"And I know you have a certain weakness for scheming," Chuck adds. "Not to mention, nothing gets you worked up quite like a good scheme."

Blair rolls her eyes, but her cheeks are positively pink now.

"I do like a good scheme," she sighs. She is supposed to be growing up—growing past this. But in all honesty, she can't see the harm in one last scheme. She doesn't regret what she has said to—or about—Léon. But if there is still a way to turn the situation in her favor, she will utilize it.

She _is_ still Blair Waldorf.

"I'll call Mike," Chuck says, taking her continued silence as a full acceptance.

Blair nods, already strategizing.

* * *

tbc


	18. Chapter 17

**AN: _Merci_, to all you fantastic readers. Je vous aime tous. To bethaboo, the most incredible beta around, _j'adore_. To SaturnineSunshine, who inspires me like no other, _vous êtes le meilleur _. (I hardly ever recommend stories in my ANs, but if you're looking for a fantastic read, her _Inferno_ is both awe-inspiring and fabulous.)  
**

* * *

"What happened in here?"

Neither Chuck nor Blair answer Serena, who, coat in hand, surveys the mountains of paper and various boxes of folders scattered around the penthouse.

"Chuck," she prompts.

Chuck looks up at her briefly, and returns back to the folder at hand.

Serena doesn't take too kindly to being brushed off.

"Blair," she says. When the brunette, whose legs are thrown over Chuck's lap, various documents clutched in her hands, doesn't even glance her way, Serena has the strange urge to stomp her foot.

Then again, she isn't five.

"Blair," she tries again.

When Blair still pays her no attention, she raises her voice slightly.

"Blair!"

Blair spares her a cursory glance, and then turns back to the papers in hand.

This time, Serena really does stomp her foot.

And she thinks she should have done it earlier, considering that it is only _after_ stomping her foot do Chuck and Blair look over.

"Yes?" Blair asks contemptuously.

"What are you guys _doing_?"

"Scheming," comes the simultaneous answer.

Serena should've figured.

"Against who?" she asks, almost afraid of the answer.

"Léon," Blair says as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"But I thought—"

"Best defense is a good offense," Blair quips. "Besides, I don't need Eleanor's wrath. Not that I couldn't handle it, but it would be a pointless nuisance."

"Léon?" Serena says, and there is a smirk in her voice that causes both Chuck and Blair to look up.

"We don't need your help, if you're offering," Chuck says slowly.

Serena sighs dramatically, turning towards the elevator, "If you say so."

Blair, who knows Serena well enough to recognize the knowing tone in her voice, stops her short. "S? What do you know?"

Serena almost caves. "If you don't need my help…"

"Ignore Chuck," Blair commands. "Serena. What. Do. You. Know?"

This time, she caves.

"It's probably nothing," she begins sheepishly. She has put off telling Blair about her discovery for so long that it really has regressed to nothing. Serena is not fond of Léon, and even less so of the Desmaraises now that she has discovered what happened that summer.

"Tell us anyways," Chuck supplies, finally leaning forward. There is a matching fervor in both their eyes that almost alarms Serena, not simply because of their apparent eagerness to scheme, but of how much they are the _same_.

"Well you remember that summer I went to find my dad," Serena begins, and Chuck and Blair nod.

"I did a lot of things I'm not proud of," Serena admits. "But you both probably know that."

Blair purses her lips, but motions for Serena to continue on.

"I was so desperate to find him," Serena ducks her head, "that I was willing to do _anything_."

Blair frowns slightly at this statement. "S, you don't mean—"

"Well, no," Serena assures her. "Not really."

"Then what?"

"I was at a bar," she sighs. "And there was this guy."

Blair refrains from rolling her eyes.

"Let me guess, he was understanding?" Blair asks condescendingly.

"He bought me a drink," Serena ignores her question. "Or four. And I told him why I was there."

"And?" Blair prompted.

"And he took me back to my hotel room," Serena says with a small smile. "He was a perfect gentleman."

"Wait—" Blair holds up a hand. "_How_ is this supposed to help me destroy Léon?"

"Well, you wouldn't be destroying him, exactly," Serena admits. "But it would give him a reason to tell his mother to allow Eleanor into her circle."

"So this is blackmail," there is a dangerous glint in Blair's eye. "So Léon bought you a few drinks and took you back to your hotel room."

"Not Léon," Serena corrects. "Léon's cousin."

…

"Nate," Anne says, a note of horror in her tone. "You're looking…well."

Nate merely grunts, shouldering his bag and making his way up the stairs. Surrounded by the clean sandalwood-thyme scent Nate has always associated with home, he knows that he smells akin to a dump.

He also knows that he needs a shower.

"Nate," Anne says again. "What's going on?"

When he doesn't respond, merely clomping up a few more steps, Anne raises her voice.

"Nathaniel," she says sharply. "Why do you look like you've been staying somewhere without running water?"

"Because I was staying at a motel," Nate snaps.

Anne frowns, confused. "Why—"

"Because I can't stay with Chuck anymore," Nate mumbles. Off his mother's questioning look, he merely shrugs. "I just can't."

…

"Léon's cousin?" Chuck repeats.

"S, this is becoming more complicated than my mother's walking directions for her models," Blair declares.

"I don't really understand it either," Serena admits. "I don't have all the details, only what Dan and I managed to piece together. There's nothing in the tabloids either, save for one picture, and that makes me think that Léon's family covered it up."

Blair and Chuck exchange a glance. For Léon's family to cover it up meant that it was something big—something they could use.

"The one picture that we found…it's of Léon's cousin, Zacharie, and I, entering a hotel room."

Blair raises an eyebrow. This has all the makings of perfect blackmail, but she has to factor in Serena's involvement—she knows that this is the one time she cannot wreck Serena's life for her own gain. Too much has passed between them, and with a small, sad smile, Blair recalls the summer spent in Paris. She'd rather give up her limited edition Manolos than admit it, but Blair knows that Serena was there for her when she needed it most.

"It wasn't like that," Serena is quick to assure. "At least…I don't think so.

I was out again the next night, and I ended up at the same bar. Zacharie was there, and he was…sweet. He told me he'd been hoping that I'd be there again because he needed to find me—"

"He _needed_ to find you?" Blair questions, and there is a small twinge of jealousy. Only for girls like Serena, golden Serena, would this happen—a chance meeting that ended in a guy hoping to find her the very next day.

"He told me he had information on my dad," at this, Serena's eyes turn stormy. "He said he could _help_ me."

"And you trusted him," Chuck asks skeptically.

Blair gives him a pointed look. "S has a bit of a trust problem," she reminds him.

"He was _nice_," Serena mumbled.

"But?" Blair prompts.

"But he bought me a few more drinks, promised we could start searching the next day…and he brought me back to his hotel room."

Serena pauses slightly, and she takes a breath because this is not who she is. It has been 2 years since that incident, and she accepts that she was gullible—but that stemmed from her desperation.

The silence settles over them and Serena looks away from Blair's searching gaze. She avoids Chuck's gaze as well, his being more piercing than Blair's.

"S," Blair starts, her voice soft. She knows where this is going. "We can use something else against Léon…it doesn't have to be this. It doesn't even _apply_ to him, really."

"Everyone has something sordid hidden in their background," Chuck adds. "We just have to find it."

"How much luck were you two having before?" Serena asks dubiously.

Their expressions fall simultaneously.

"None," Blair groans. "But we've only been looking for an hour or so."

"I haven't finished," Serena announces.

"I don't think you need to," Blair points out. Serena looks from Chuck to Blair, finally realizing that their inference did not match hers.

"I didn't sleep with him," Serena explains quickly. There is an almost audible sigh of relief from the other two.

"But someone photographed us going _into_ the hotel, and somehow, got us both at his door as well."

"So it doesn't look good for him," Chuck observes. "But how does this apply to Léon?"

"Zacharie…he's married," Serena admits, ducking her head. "But I didn't know, I swear."

Blair wrinkles her nose. "If you _didn't_ sleep with him, then why did you go back to his hotel room?"

Serena smiles weakly. "He said something about knowing where my father was…"

"And you followed a guy you'd just met to his hotel," Blair says, her voice as judgment-free as possible.

"He was _nice_," Serena repeats for the thousandth time. "But once we were in his room…"

Serena winces, and from that, Chuck and Blair can gather what occurred.

"S," Blair sighs.

"I ran out, knocked into a maid, and was out of the hotel within minutes," Serena continues stoically. "I didn't have any association with him after that."

"I don't know if any of this is even right," Serena says sheepishly. "It's just what Dan and I pieced together, from that one picture we found."

"It's something," Blair agrees. "But we don't have to use it, S."

Serena shakes her head adamantly. "I don't mind."

Blair raises an eyebrow and Serena nods resolutely. "Really, B. If this is what you need…"

"It could work," Chuck jumps in, and Blair tilts her head to the side.

Serena can tell that she already has a scheme in place.

"I'll leave you two to it," Serena says with an amused smile.

"Thanks, S," Blair says sincerely.

"Anytime," Serena responds, already halfway in the elevator. To tell Blair what has been eating away at her for the duration of Léon's stay is a welcome relief. But she is more relieved by the fact that during her explanation, she has realized that she is not the same person. The Serena of today wouldn't be so gullible, or so desperate to find her father that she would do _anything_.

Over and above that, the Serena of today has grown up.

…

"You sure?"

Chuck throws her a look that suggests she shouldn't doubt him.

"This just doesn't seem like somewhere Léon would…"

"It was Kelly's idea," Chuck reminds her.

"Right," Blair says grudgingly. The girl had wasted no time in securing a dinner Léon—Léon's last dinner in New York, no less.

"And you know this because—"

"My PI heard him talking to Kelly," Chuck says nonchalantly.

Blair smirks at his tone, but the limo pulls up to Eolo.

"Ready?" Chuck holds his hand out to her, and Blair accepts, a thrill of something she can't name curling through her body.

"Ready," she says, threading her fingers through his.

They walk, hand-in-hand, past the maître d', and towards what is, conveniently enough, a table for four set for two.

Kelly, Blair guesses, is in the restroom as she slides into what she presumes is the girl's chair, as Chuck takes the one on the other side of Léon.

"Léon," Blair greets, voice sugary sweet. He looks at her with contempt, and Blair's smirk grows.

"Blair," he addresses begrudgingly, "I hope you don't mind, but this is a private dinner—"

"It's convenient that this is a table for four," Blair trills, ignoring Léon's dismissal. Waving the maître d' over, she gestures for another two place settings.

"What are _you_ doing here?" she hears Kelly before she even turns around, and the girl's face matches the resentment in her tone exactly.

"Having dinner with a friend," Blair sings, smile wide.

"After what we saw on Gossip Girl?" Kelly sneers. "If I were Léon, I wouldn't deign to associate myself with you any longer."

Blair's smile grows.

"Perhaps after our…conversation with Léon, he _would_ think it an honor to associate with us," Chuck interrupts, his meaning clear.

"I wouldn't want anything to do with either of you," Léon declares, and a few patrons frown at the group—Blair smiles prettily at them.

"Oh?" Blair asks slyly. "Not even if we knew what happened between Zacharie Desmarais and Serena two years ago?"

Léon's expression is one of shock, and his hands clench around the stem of his wineglass. "How—"

"You should take more care with your words," Chuck suggests. "After you mentioned to Serena that your last name should be familiar to her, she put the pieces together."

"That girl?" Léon asks in disbelief. "Why, she was so simple-minded I didn't think she would—"

"You thought wrong," Blair snaps. While she may not be the first person to call Serena intelligent, she thinks it ironic that Léon still hasn't realized that he isn't better than them.

"Léon," Kelly sputters, "_what_ is going on?"

"You should leave," Léon commands, and Kelly looks at him in astonishment.

"But—"

"I believe he told you to leave," Blair says sweetly. "Wouldn't want to cause a scene now, do we? I believe you still aren't welcome at Asiate after your last…temper tantrum."

Kelly throws one last pleading glance at Léon, who stares ahead stoically, before storming out of the restaurant. Not without one last withering glare at Chuck and Blair, of course.

"Now," Blair smiles, crossing her legs. "About your cousin…"

"He's not my cousin," Léon snaps. He catches himself, as if he has made a grave mistake. But Chuck and Blair, who are not one to miss anything, lean forward.

"No?" Chuck taunts. "The newspapers say otherwise."

Léon looks at the two of them, and Blair can see his arrogance ebbing away, replaced by an expression of defeat.

"_C'est des conneries_," Léon mutters under his breath, and Chuck looks to Blair for a translation. She merely smirks.

"He's my half-brother," Léon sighs in defeat.

Blair and Chuck exchange a glance.

Their scheme just got a whole lot more interesting.

…

"Dan."

"Serena," he says with a laugh, mimicking her tone.

"I have to ask you a question," Serena hedges. From her oddly somber expression, Dan can gather that the question does not have to do with their takeout decision for the night.

Dan looks at her expectantly, and Serena hesitates, because now she is questioning the value of her question. But it has been eating away at her for a while now, and it appears she is on a mission to rid herself of any burdens today.

"Why did you believe me so easily?" Serena asks. "About Zacharie."

Dan furrows his brow. "Did Chuck and Blair not—"

"No," Serena insists quickly. "It's not them. But while I was telling them, I realized how much it _would_ have made sense for me to sleep with him because he had information on my dad."

"But you didn't," Dan enunciates slowly, almost as if he were afraid she would deny the statement.

"I remember running out of there," Serena says confidently. "I don't really remember what went on in that hotel room, but I remember running out of there before anything happened."

"I believe you," Dan tells her, taking on hand in his. She sticks the thumb of her other hand in her mouth, gnawing at her thumbnail. It's a nervous quirk of Serena's, one he has always found lovable in someone who also has hundred-dollar manicures weekly.

"But _why_?" Serena presses, knowing full well that it may not be an answer she wants to hear. "I wouldn't have believed me, knowing my reputation."

"Because…" Dan thinks for a moment, "because I know _you_, Serena. I know who you were before, and I know who you are now. I know you wouldn't do something like that because you've changed. Because I love you, and I know you're telling the truth."

Dan finishes his speech with a small smile, and Serena can't help but thread her fingers through his hair and kiss him.

"I love you, too," she breathes.

…

"It would be a scandal, if it was revealed that my father had an illegitimate child out of wedlock before marrying my mother," Léon explains dejectedly. "So we introduced him as my cousin, the son of my father's estranged brother who died of cancer. Zacharie…he was always a few years older than I, but he was _mon frère_. We did everything together, growing up. And because of his intelligence, his manners, he was quickly accepted into Parisian society.

"My family has always been an integral part of Parisian society. My mother's side is nearly royalty, and her mother, her mother's mother, were all wives of powerful men. My father is poised to become the next Count of Châlons—" at this, Léon's expression twists, becoming one of utter hatred. "Until your friend came along, of course."

"None of this was Serena's fault," Blair is quick to interject.

"Your asshole of a _half-brother_ forced himself on her, promising that he would help her find her father," Chuck snarls. And Blair looks sideways at Chuck, noting that he really is irate. The thought brings a small smile to her lips, because Chuck's fierce protectiveness over Serena—over all the van der Woodsens, in fact—is proof that he cares about them. About his family.

"He did no such thing," Léon retorts. "Zacharie is a respectable man, with a wife and a job with a Zurich bank, not to mention a secure place in the upper echelons of society. _Why_ would he throw it all away for some simpleton drunk who can't be bothered to find her own hotel room?"

"Is that what he told you?" Chuck asks with a bark of laughter. But Blair, who remains oddly quiet, seems to have remembered something.

"Chuck," she whispers urgently, and he turns to her, a question in his eyes.

Blair's eyes gleam, and he can tell that she has stumbled upon something useful to them.

"Your family did a decent job at covering up the scandal," Blair remarks, and Léon smiles tightly.

"There was damage control, yes. But within our family, the ties are severed. Though we have remained in the same prominence in regards to society, the Count has all but renounced us as family. We have been eschewed from most events, and the shame that has caused our family—"

"Your damage control wasn't entirely successful," Blair interrupts Léon's tirade. She knows it is terrible of her, but Emmanuelle still has the resources to integrate Eleanor into her inner circle—the shame placed on the Desmaraises is of little consequence, especially when it was self-imposed.

"Yes, well, _one_ small picture managed to leak. It wasn't even a particularly discernible one, and in a small tabloid, to boot. The rumor was dismissed almost immediately."

"Except that it was never a rumor," Chuck reminds him, and Léon turns to him, eyes blazing.

"I'll have you know that no one will ever believe the word of a girl—an _American_ girl who spent that summer in the tabloids for her debauchery."

"Maybe not," Blair concedes, knowing full well that Léon's words are the truth—Serena may have changed, but her past will still follow her. "Maybe they won't believe Serena's statement. But is that a risk you're willing to take?"

The glint in her eyes is dangerous, and Léon opens his mouth, but Blair goes in for the kill.

"_Especially_," Blair enthuses, "when we have pictures of Zacharie meeting with various call girls, or as you say in Paris, _une putain_?"

"You—" Léon sputters, and in his defense, the man does look as though this is the first time he has heard such a thing. "You dare tell such lies, after what you have said about me—"

"Oh, the pictures are real," Blair says, her voice dripping with sweetness.

"Blair," Chuck warns under his breath. He knows she is playing a dangerous game, as the pictures don't exist—he has never laid eyes on them.

"They exist," Blair whispers back quickly, without even needing an explanation as to Chuck's warning. She remembers seeing them now, or at least a vague glimpse of them, while going through the various files still taking up space in the Empire.

It has always been like this when they scheme. No matter how the scheme panned out, whether on plan or not, they have always worked in perfect synchronization.

Léon's eyes are wild, and he shifts in his chair, glancing around as if to ensure that no one else has heard.

"My family," he says, almost despairingly. "We will be ruined."

"So far, you've only being ousted within your family," Blair reminds him. "But with these pictures, we could ruin your family within Paris' social hierarchy."

Léon drops his head in his hands. "_Salope_," he mutters under his breath, and Blair smirks at the word.

"You," Léon says, looking directly at Blair, "are not the girl I believed you were."

Blair doesn't flinch, doesn't show an ounce of emotion other than the smirk she wears.

"No," Chuck agrees, and Léon turns to look at him scathingly. "Blair is so much more than a society Princess."

The grunt of disgust Léon makes would indicate that Chuck's words are an insult. But the way he says them, a note of pride and reverence in his voice, tells Blair they are the opposite of an insult.

"No," Blair acquiesces, "I'm not."

"What do you gain by ruining my family?" Léon asks.

"Nothing, I suppose," Blair says with a shrug. "Other than the vindication of knowing that your _conasse_ of a brother gets what he deserves."

"Your mother would have to find some other way into society," Léon reminds her, a note of triumph in his voice.

"She would," Blair accedes. "Which is why we won't say a thing."

"You are blackmailing me," Léon says in realization, and Blair and Chuck roll their eyes at his apparent naivety, "to allow your mother a place in Parisian society?"

Blair considers his words, and it is then she realizes that all of this has been for her mother. It does not benefit her in the slightest, only her mother. The thought irritates Blair slightly, who believed herself truly free of her mother's grasp when she had defied Léon the first time.

But now, now she is going to lengths to secure her mother a place in society that Blair does not care for. This completely defeats the purpose of telling off Léon, and though she is completing it in a manner her mother would disapprove of, Blair knows that she is completing her mother's task all the same.

It would be easier to leak the pictures of Zacharie, Blair thinks. To have Serena release a completely true statement along with the pictures, that would implicate the sick son of a bitch. But Serena's reputation would suffer, if only lightly. And Blair knows that Serena would do this for her if she asked.

The only option, Blair realizes, is to blackmail Léon into convincing Emmanuelle to give Eleanor a place in her circle.

But this, Blair resolves, _this_ is the last time Eleanor is to use her.

"Yes," Blair agrees. "But also…"

Chuck looks at her in surprise, not realizing that there had been a secondary condition.

"Your half-brother, Zacharie," Blair says the name as if it one of someone from Brooklyn.

"He has already lost everything," Léon nearly pleads. Blair raises an eyebrow.

"Last I checked, he is still a prominent member of society," Blair reminds him. "He still holds his job, yes? And his wife is still married to him?"

"You aren't suggesting—" Léon is horrified.

"I don't think she deserves to be married to someone like him," Blair says thoughtfully.

Chuck shakes his head. "No, I don't think so either."

"You want to be responsible for breaking up a marriage?" Léon asks, panicked.

"That was Zacharie's doing," Blair remarks blithely. "We're doing her a favor."

"She will be ruined," Léon tells them gravely.

"No," Chuck responds. "You'll see to it that their marriage is dissolved, we'll even provide the pictures for proof, if you'd like. And you'll see to it that she is more well-off than she is in the marriage."

"But they're in love," Léon tries desperately. Blair shakes her head.

"You don't cheat on someone you love," she says coldly. And Chuck's stomach squirms slightly at her words. Hadn't he done the exact same thing to her, the woman he loved?

"You'll see to it," Blair says firmly. "Or the pictures will be leaked, and the fallout will be something not even your family could hide."

Léon looks at them in desperation, but as Chuck and Blair stand, they show no remorse.

"Oh, and Léon?" Blair asks sweetly, turning around one last time.

"Yes?" he bites out.

"Don't ever associate with the Winters again," Blair commands.

Helpless, Léon can only nod.

Chuck and Blair don't exchange a word as they leave the restaurant, and it is not until they are safely ensconced within the limo that Blair releases a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"Well that's done," she says, relieved.

Chuck sits back as well, closing his eyes. "I hope Eleanor appreciates what we've done for her."

Blair shakes her head. "It'll be the last time I allow her to use me as a pawn," she says determinedly.

"I don't think she used you," Chuck mentions offhandedly.

"No?" Blair asks, though she is more curious than offended.

"I think she…respects you."

"She respects me?" Blair is simply dubious now.

"She knew that you are more than able to secure her a place—one way or another, at least. I think Eleanor, in some twisted way, was trying to show that she respects you. She respects that you would be able to charm Léon and give her an invite into his mother's inner circle."

Put that way, Blair can't help but feel a tiny flicker of pride. "It doesn't change things," she says. "I'm not going to allow her to step all over me anymore."

Chuck smirks. "Never," he promises.

Blair returns the smirk with a smile of her own, laying her head on his shoulder.

The moment is perfect, Chuck's finger drawing lazy circles on her hipbone, a scheme pulled off successfully, and the future a little less troubled.

But then Chuck interrupts her thoughts, a question that has been pestering him since Blair's cold declaration.

"You mentioned," he begins lightly, "something….something about cheating."

Blair frowns. "Did I? I can't remember."

"You don't cheat on someone you love?" Chuck quotes. And Blair winces.

"Chuck—" Blair lifts herself up, so she is eye level with him. "Chuck, that wasn't directed at you."

"Couldn't help but notice the similarities," Chuck notes wryly, but Blair can tell it is bothering him more than he is letting on.

"You didn't cheat on me," Blair says quietly, bringing her small hands to his face. "Well, excepting the blonde whore of an interior designer," she adds bitterly.

Chuck is about to say something, but Blair interrupts him. "I don't think you cheated because you didn't love me," she tells him. I think you cheated _because_ you loved me. You run from your feelings, Chuck. Or, at least you used to."

_You used to_. The three words ring in his mind and stay there, because in those three words, Blair is essentially telling him that he has grown up.

"I love you," Chuck tells her.

And before she can get a word in, Chuck continues.

"And I'm not running anymore."

* * *

tbc

* * *

French - English translations.

_C'est des conneries_ - This is bullshit

_mon Frère - _my brother

_une Putain - _a whore

_Salope - _bitch

_Conasse - _asshole


	19. Chapter 18

**AN: To clear up some confusion over a line in the last chapter, regarding the 'cheating out of love', I meant it as: Chuck cheated because he'd realized the weight of being in a relationship, falling in love, trusting, and ultimately, opening yourself up to someone else. And that scared him, which, I believe, led to the 'cheating'. As always, everyone's comments are loved, and an extra-long chapter as a thank-you for your continued support. To bethaboo, my beta and my rock, thank you, thank you, thank you.**

* * *

****"I haven't seen Nate around lately," Serena muses, and the other three at the table exchange a glance over the opulent brunch laid out before them.

"Last I heard, he was in Hudson," Eric pipes up, with a sideways glance at Blair, who barely flinches, keeping her eyes on her own plate, fork clutched delicately in one hand. Chuck makes no obvious movements either, his eyes straight ahead, his expression neutral.

They all know who lives in Hudson.

"Gossip Girl mentioned him being back," Serena says by way of an explanation. Then, with another cautious glance at Blair, "I miss him. It used to be the four of us."

"The non-judging breakfast club," Blair says, part wistfully and part wryly.

"I think I'll give Nathaniel a call later today," Chuck says offhandedly. And from his expression, Blair knows that he misses Nate, whether he admits it or not. Because while Serena may stray to Brooklyn, it has always been the four of them. Without Nate, it seems as though a critical piece is missing, and though Eric has replaced him somewhat recently, they know it will never be the same.

"Well I miss Nate," Serena declares. "It isn't the same without him."

"Probably because without Nate, you're the only one making comments about the strange color of the carrots," Blair teases.

"They aren't normally _purple_," Serena defends herself, though she is laughing along.

"No, but it doesn't mean they're mutated carrots," Blair shoots back, but her playful smile softening her words.

"GMOs are in our everyday foods and we don't know it," Serena says faux-gravely. And everyone at the table turns to her, stunned.

"What?" she spears an asparagus nonchalantly. "I read it in a newspaper."

Laughter echoes around the table, and Serena smiles, though she has to admit she _does_ miss Nate's presence. Even if they weren't together like Chuck and Blair were, the two of them had always been friends in some way or another.

It is a friendship she doesn't want to lose.

With that, Serena decides that she will call Nate as well.

Through his laughter, Eric accidentally knocks his fork to the floor, which causes another round of laughter around the table. Half-laughing, he bends down to pick it up, and in doing so, notice that, across the table, Chuck and Blair are holding hands under the tablecloth.

Her hand is dwarfed by his, and the way they are holding hands, though a simple gesture, speaks volumes to Eric.

It has always been this way with Chuck and Blair. The true nature of their relationship has always been in the shadows, hidden under tablecloths, a mystery to everyone but them.

It is the way it will always be.

…

In a way, Nate's become a recluse. He knows his mother is becoming increasingly irritated with him, but in all honesty, he has no clue what to do. The next logical step would be to move his things from the Empire - but Nate figures that hiring someone to do it would be less troublesome than doing it himself, if only because he wants to avoid Chuck. At the same time, hiring someone to move his things would cause unnecessary questions.

He doesn't know how he would react if he saw Chuck. If he would be able to abide by Jenny's wishes and _not_ tell Chuck that he had fathered a child.

Dropping his head to his hands, Nate wonders if he and Chuck will ever be able to return to the friendship they once had. Before he is allowed to mull over the thought, the shrill ring of his phone interrupts him. A phone that has been silent so long, the ring is almost deafening.

_CHUCK_ flashes on the screen, and Nate has the strange urge to throw his phone against the opposite wall.

_Speak of the devil_, Nate thinks wryly, hitting _Ignore_ with more force than necessary.

They run in the same circles, attend the same dinner parties, and have the same friends. Nate knows that unless he lives out his life in his bedroom, he will have to face Chuck at some point.

But for now, he is content to hit _Ignore_ every time Chuck's name pops up on the screen.

After the ninth call (Nate has to give Chuck props for being persistent), the ringing ceases.

An extended moment of silence permeates the room, in which Nate looks at his phone, a crestfallen expression on his face. Chuck, who has been a friend as long as Nate can remember, is no longer a friend. There is no possible way Nate can forgive him—not for this.

_But it's not Chuck's fault_ a voice in his head tells him. It is not Chuck's fault that Jenny is keeping the pregnancy from him. And as for that _night_, Nate thinks with a wince, he believes that Chuck didn't force himself on Jenny. In all honesty, he had never thought that, if only because he knew the full extent of Chuck's feelings for Blair.

The rational part of his brain is telling him to let this pass, to forget the ordeal and move on. But Nate knows that as long as Chuck remains in the dark about the child, he can't trust himself _not_ to say anything.

Another phone call interrupts his thoughts, and Nate picks up the phone with a frown, ready to hit the _Ignore_ button once more. It is not, however, Chuck. Nor is it one of his friends from Columbia, or anyone else who would be calling him.

It is Dan.

His thumb hovers over the _Ignore_ button, ready to dole out the same fate to Dan as he had to Chuck. But he finds himself unable to ignore the call, too curious as to why Dan is calling in the first place.

"Hello?" Nate says, his voice slightly hollow.

"Nate, hey," Dan's voice sounds surprised, and Nate wonders if he is with Chuck as well. There is no other explanation for his surprise at Nate's picking up the phone. A flare of jealousy coils its way through his stomach at the thought of the four of them—Chuck, Blair, Serena and Dan (because Dan would never be with Chuck otherwise)—together. It has always been him, Serena, Chuck and Blair, and they had replaced him with Dan?

"You sound surprised," Nate mentions, attempting neutrality in his tone.

"I didn't know if you were still in Hudson," Dan explains with a laugh. And the jealousy dissolves as quickly as it came about in the first place.

"I've been in New York a few days," Nate says with a wince.

"We haven't seen you around," Dan says, and Nate wonders if he should hang up now—before they could get into anything that could prove dangerous for him. Dangerous in terms of blurting out Jenny's secret.

"I've been busy," he mumbles, and there is an awkward lull in the conversation, as if Dan is itching to say something. "I'm staying at my parents' place."

"Not the Empire?"

"No," Nate says shortly, and to his relief, Dan doesn't ask for an explanation.

"How is Jenny?" Dan asks awkwardly.

Nate has to give the guy credit. He waited all of thirty seconds before asking about Jenny.

"She's good," Nate says briefly. He doesn't trust himself with saying more.

"So you saw her?" Dan asks warily.

"Yeah," Nate hedges. He knows Dan expects more, but he has no clue what to say without giving away Jenny's secret.

"My mom wouldn't even let _us_ see her," Dan says lightly, but there is bitterness in his tone. "How did you manage _that_?"

"I, well, I—" Nate laughs, but it comes off anxious. "I went to the dog walker's and stole the key."

Dan's astonishment is clear, even though Nate cannot physically see him. The silence on the other end is enough.

"Wish I'd thought of that," Dan finally says, and Nate is relieved to hear the amusement in his voice.

"I don't think your mother likes me very much," Nate admits sheepishly. "She thinks I forced my way into her house. Which I did. But I wasn't going to _hurt_ anyone."

"Jenny can take care of herself," Dan says with a laugh, and Nate winces, because he has the sudden urge to mention that Jenny is not only taking care of herself, but of the child inside her stomach.

"She can," Nate acknowledges.

"Don't worry about my mom," Dan assures him. "She's never really been too taken with the Upper East Side—or its inhabitants."

"I don't blame her," Nate mutters under his breath.

"Sorry, I didn't get that. What—"

A sudden crash from Dan's end interrupts his question, and Nate is almost relieved when Dan initiates a quick goodbye.

"I'll talk to you soon," Dan promises, and to Nate, it sounds more like a threat than a promise, even though Dan's voice is light.

"Sure," Nate mumbles.

And the line goes dead, Nate breathing out a sigh of relief and flopping back onto his bed, exhausted.

He doesn't know how much longer he can keep up this charade. Dan hadn't even begun to ask _why_ Jenny was avoiding him and Rufus, and Nate knows he will have to fabricate a story before Dan's next call.

Not two minutes after Dan's call, his phone rings again. _CHUCK_ flashes on the screen, and Nate's thumb hovers over the _Accept_ button. He misses his best friend, more so after Dan's call, which only highlighted the differences between Chuck and Dan. Chuck wouldn't ask questions about Jenny. If anything, Chuck would avoid any and all talk about her. Nate would be safe from the questions, but he would still be tempted to tell him.

Hitting _Ignore_ with a sigh, Nate scrolls his address book, looking for a different number.

"Luke Connelly speaking," comes the unfamiliar voice, and Nate looks at his phone in surprise, wondering when Chuck had changed assistants.

"Nate Archibald," he says by way of explanation. "I'm Chuck's—"

"Friend, yes. How can I help you, Mr. Archibald?" Nate has to admit, he is impressed by the man's knowledge.

"What is Chuck up to tomorrow?" he asks, purposely keeping his voice neutral.

"Are you wanting to set up an appointment with him?" the man asks, confused.

"Er, no," Nate says, mind reeling to come up with an excuse. "I'm helping his girlfriend, Blair, plan a surprise."

"Ah, how lovely," the man says, though his tone implies the opposite. "Mr. Bass has appointments at eleven in the morning, two in the afternoon, and a board meeting at four. Does that help?"

"It does, thank you," Nate says, wanting to end the call as quickly as possible.

"Good day, Mr. Archibald," Luke says in parting, before hanging up.

"Thanks," Nate mutters. He hopes the man has enough sense not to mention anything to Chuck—or Blair, for that matter.

…

"He's ignoring my calls," Chuck declares, and for a moment, he feels like a fourteen year-old girl, pining after a boy.

It takes him a few moments to get over the horrifying thought.

"Maybe he's busy?" Blair suggests, brow furrowed.

"The line was busy for a few minutes, meaning that he had enough time to take someone else's call," Chuck points out. Then, recollecting himself, picks up a document at random, scanning it briefly.

"Chuck," Blair begins, but he shakes his head, eyes affixed to the paper in his hands.

He is holding it upside down, Blair notes with a small laugh.

"Knowing Nate, he's high and watching the _Matrix_ for the fiftieth time," Chuck says laconically. "It's not a big deal."

"He's your best friend," Blair points out. "It's okay to miss him," she adds teasingly.

Chuck's glare is ferocious. "I don't miss him."

"Yes, you do," Blair says with a laugh.

"We're not like you and Serena," Chuck retorts, and Blair laughs again.

"Yes, you are," she goads. "Even more so, sometimes."

"How can we be more like you two than you two?" Chuck asks, and Blair shrugs.

"You _do_ gossip like girls," she reminds him.

"No, we don't," Chuck states, and Blair's smile widens.

"_And_ you guys are roommates," Blair says breezily.

"_Were_," Chuck corrects. "He hasn't been here in weeks."

"You _do_ miss him," Blair crows. And before Chuck can counter the statement, "I'll talk to him, if you want."

"He's my roommate," Chuck says flatly. "He's not exactly essential to my existence."

"But I am, right?" Blair asks teasingly, though there is a slight note of worry in her voice.

Chuck looks up at her, surprised.

"Have you ever doubted that?"

She answers him with a kiss.

The document clutched in his hand (about purchase orders, and held upside down) is soon forgotten, along with Nate, Hudson, and Jenny.

When Chuck and Blair are together, nothing else matters.

…

"Don't pick that up," Blair commands, her head pillowed on Chuck's chest, eyes nearly drooping shut.

She may be half asleep, but Blair Waldorf is not one to be ignored for a call, business or otherwise.

And Chuck knows better than to cross her.

"Whatever you wish," Chuck says wryly, pressing a kiss to her hair.

Almost immediately after ignoring the call, a text comes in, with Luke requesting he pick up his phone. Sometimes, he wonders why he hired the man, who is as unrelenting as they come.

At the same time, Chuck knows he hired Luke because he was simply the best—the most efficient, in particular.

"I have to call him back," he says apologetically, moving from the bed and towards the hallway. Blair merely turns from him, wrapping a sheet tighter around herself.

He knows she'll forgive him.

"This better be important," he says by way of a greeting, when Luke picks up on the first ring.

"Mr. Davison, your two o'clock, canceled," Luke says calmly.

Chuck isn't as calm. Jason Davison's involvement is essential—Chuck had been tasked with bringing on-board the next project, and to fail would mean disappointment. He had already gotten Samuelson involved, much to the board's excitement.

He doesn't deal so well with disappointment.

"Again?" Chuck growls. "He's already canceled twice—"

"He claims to have a prior engagement," Luke says, still calm.

"One that his two secretaries and personal assistant forgot about?" Chuck demands. He has gotten increasingly familiar with Davison's staff the past two days.

"I asked his secretary, the blonde one, if she knew why he was canceling," Luke begins slyly.

"And?" Chuck prompts.

"He has a meeting with Kensington, the—"

"Real estate company planning to buy the Moore development," Chuck finishes.

"Yes, Mr. Bass. And I asked her if she knew when—"

"You just asked?" Chuck questions, dubious.

"Ah, well, I may have promised her a few things."

Chuck smirks, knowing that he has made the right choice. "To continue, Mr. Davison has a meeting with them at four. You have a board meeting then, but I also discovered that Mr. Davison has dinner plans for six-thirty."

"At which restaurant?"

"Marea. But as I understand it, Mr. Bass, you have plans for the evening," Luke clears his throat, and Chuck furrows his brow.

"I do?"

"I believe you do," Luke hedges.

"With whom?" Chuck asks, irritated. At this point in time, any other client is not nearly as important as Davison.

"With Miss Waldorf," Luke admits. "But please, Mr. Bass, do your best to act surprised."

"Blair? I'm meeting her after for dessert, but Blair has dinner with her Columbia friends."

"Your friend, Mr. Archibald, he wanted to know your schedule tomorrow so he would help Miss Waldorf plan a surprise," Luke explains, flummoxed.

"Nate?" Chuck's frown deepens.

"He called this afternoon," Luke offers unhelpfully.

Mind reeling, Chuck thinks back to the ignored calls—Nate had phoned his assistant, asking for his schedule. _Nate_ planning a surprise for Chuck makes no sense either. In the past, any surprises had been orchestrated by Chuck, and passed of as Nate's. From Blair's birthday to his parents' anniversary, Nate had always turned to Chuck for help.

Promising to call him back, Chuck hangs up on Luke, pouring himself a glass of scotch.

"Chuck?" Blair appears in the doorway, sheet wrapped around her, hair in disarray. "What's wrong?"

He could get used to this, he thinks, as she joins him, snuggling into his side.

"Nate," Chuck says, and his voice betraying his confusion.

"If you're really worried, we could always ask Gossip Girl," Blair teases, but at his expression, stops short. "What about Nate?"

"He called Luke, asking about my schedule. Apparently to help you plan a surprise for me, but you have—"

"Dinner with the girls," Blair fills in. "Why is Nate asking about your schedule? He's not planning a surprise dinner for you."

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Chuck huffs.

There is a moment of extended silence, Chuck playing with Blair's curls, tangling them beyond repair.

"He's been avoiding you," Blair finally says. "Not just you—all of us."

"Serena mentioned that Dan talked to him—"

"Dan?" Chuck asks in disbelief.

"Apparently Nate has an affinity for Brooklyn," Blair replies in slight disgust. "And he mentioned that he's staying at his parent's."

"He was making sure I wouldn't be around," Chuck realizes. "So he could come here and get his stuff."

"Chuck," Blair says quietly, pulling herself up to eye level with him.

"It's fine," Chuck says briefly, reaching for his scotch. But Blair knows it's anything but.

"I just want to know why Nate's angry all of a sudden," Chuck admits. His expression tells Blair that they are thinking the exact same thing—only neither will broach the topic.

"He was in Hudson," Blair begins cautiously.

_He visited Jenny_,is her implied statement.

"I don't think he's angry because of her," Chuck begins, equally as cautious. They are on dangerous ground now, and neither knows how the other will react. "He was fine after…it happened."

"I never understood why Nate would go for someone like…" Blair takes a breath, steeling herself, "—like _Jenny_."

It is the first time she has said the girl's name, and she would be lying if she claimed it didn't affect her.

"But maybe it's because he wants to be with her…and he can't. Because she's not here."

The sentence is choppy and unlike Blair's usually perfectly composed phrases, but Chuck understands why. It is not a topic either of them want to be talking about.

"And that's because of me," Chuck finishes her theory.

"No," Blair shakes her head. "No, Chuck, _I_ banished her, not you."

"But you wouldn't have done it if I hadn't—" Blair winces, and Chuck stops abruptly.

"If you hadn't slept with her," Blair finishes bluntly.

The sentence is loud in the empty penthouse, ringing in both their minds as the weight of the phrase sinks in.

"You know it was a mistake," Chuck begins, but Blair cuts him off.

"I know," she says with a melancholy smile. "It doesn't make it hurt any less. But it was a mistake. We all make mistakes. Some more than others."

"I don't make the same mistake twice," Chuck tells her. "Not when it involves you."

Blair tilts her head up at him, noting his fierce, almost frightening expression. He wants her to believe him, wants her to trust him—which she does.

"I trust you," Blair says. And those three words, _nine_ letters, speak volumes.

"Thank you," he whispers. Blair smiles.

"Anytime. And as for Nate…I'll stay at the Empire tomorrow. Confront him, if he shows up."

"All day?" Chuck raises his eyebrows, and Blair frowns, reconsidering.

"If I'm feeling particularly generous, I may grant Jenny a temporary permit to enter the city," she says by way of an answer.

Chuck looks at her, wondering how he ever believed that he could function without her. He never has, he thinks wryly.

"I'll stay with you," Chuck suggests.

"All day?" Blair repeats his earlier question with a smirk of her own.

"I'm sure we can find a way to occupy ourselves," Chuck says thoughtfully.

"If we're to ask Nate _why_ he's avoiding us, it probably wouldn't be the best conversation starter if he walks in on us having sex," Blair points out.

"I was thinking Audrey movies and room service," Chuck protests innocently. But the smirk he wears contradicts the innocence. In any case, Chuck and innocence have never gone hand in hand.

"I'm as depraved and heinous as you are, Bass," Blair assures him.

"And I love you for it."

Blair smiles, threading her fingers through his hair, the sheet draped around her falling open in the process.

"I don't think I'll ever tire of hearing that," she mentions, noting with a smirk that Chuck's eyes have darkened with lust.

"And I love you, too," she utters, before her lips are captured in his.

…

"When do you think he's going to show up?" Blair asks, attempting to keep the boredom from her voice.

"Already bored?" Chuck taunts with a smile, and Blair rolls her eyes, swatting in his general direction.

"My nails are done, we've watched _Roman Holiday_, _Breakfast at Tiffany's_, _and_ _Sabrina_. Does Nate expect us to go through my entire Audrey collection?"

"You could go out with Serena," Chuck points out, but the suggestion is half-hearted. As much as waiting around in the penthouse bores him as well, he doesn't want to face Nate alone.

Blair shakes her head. "I told you, Bass. I'm staying here."

"Then I guess we better start the next movie?" Chuck says, trepidation clear in his voice. He may love Blair, and he may tolerate watching old films on an endless reel, but at a certain point, Chuck thinks he may need to sneak some of Nate's hash to live through this.

"I think we've had enough Audrey," Blair says thoughtfully. "_Gone With the Wind_?"

Chuck smirks. Rhett Butler had always been one of his favorites.

But before either of them have a chance to move, Blair's phone rings shrilly.

"It's my mother," she says faintly.

It would be in her best interests to ignore the call—she doesn't need her mother's harassment stressing her out before they confront Nate. Not to mention, if they are stuck in the Empire, it leaves little opportunity for retail therapy, her favorite form of treatment after Eleanor's calls.

But Chuck presses a kiss to her bare shoulder, and Blair has to suppress a smile.

"Answer the call," he tells her.

"Better to get it over and done with?" Blair asks wryly, but before he can answer, she picks up the call.

"Hello, mother," Blair greets, doing her best to keep the trepidation from her voice.

"Blair," Eleanor coos, and it's safe to assume she's gotten her invitation. "I received a lovely call from Emmanuelle Desmarais today."

"Did you?" Blair deadpans.

"I did," Eleanor says, triumphant. "Léon was absolutely charmed by you, Blair. A fabulous job, darling."

"Mother—" Blair begins, but before she can continue, she is cut off by Eleanor, whose tone is almost nervous. If Eleanor Waldorf got nervous, that is.

"Blair, when I received that call today, with Emmanuelle singing your praises though she's never met you, she made me realize something."

Eleanor's deep breath is clear over the line, and Blair holds her breath herself, knowing that with Eleanor, you can never be sure of what she is going to say.

"It made me realize that you've grown into an accomplished, beautiful young woman. That you've become what I've always intended for you to become, even if you haven't followed my directions to a tee. And that I'm a horrible mother, living on a separate continent from my only daughter. And that—"

"Mom," Blair interrupts, and it is not the interruption that stops Eleanor in her tracks, but the way Blair has called her _mom_, something she hasn't done in years.

"Yes?" Eleanor manages.

"I don't mind," Blair tells her with a small laugh. "I've always been independent."

"That you have," Eleanor agrees. "You never wanted anyone's help when you were younger. You never needed anyone but yourself."

"That hasn't changed," Blair says thoughtfully.

"It hasn't," Eleanor assents. "And here I am, asking my daughter to aid my social climbing."

"Eleanor Waldorf, a social climber?" Blair asks with disdain.

Eleanor laughs, the sound clear through the phone, a sound Blair hasn't truly heard in a long time.

"I raised you well," Eleanor observes.

Blair pauses here, and years of disparaging looks and furtively critical comments come back to her.

"Then again, I suppose not," Eleanor mutters, more to herself than Blair. And it appears that the same memories had returned to her as well.

It is something that has always stood in the way of their relationship moving forward. And now, now is the time to put it behind them, Blair thinks.

"If anything," she begins slowly, picking out her words with care. "It made me stronger. It made me who I am today."

Though the reference is indirect, Chuck catches the mention of her bulimia almost instantly.

He arches an eyebrow, arm still wound around her waist, holding her to him.

Blair shakes her head. She will explain later.

"I was always too critical and demanding of you," Eleanor says thoughtfully.

"You were," Blair agrees, and her agreement surprises the both of them, the words flying out of her mouth before she can stop them.

"I apologize—"

"But it made me who I am today," Blair reminds her. "It taught me how to survive."

"I should have been more…caring," Eleanor says, the word foreign on her tongue. "More attentive."

Blair closes her eyes for a moment. She has always wished that Eleanor would be a different mother. But now, sitting here with Chuck's arm wrapped around her, truly _happy_ for the first time in months, Blair thinks that the way Eleanor raised her may not have been ideal.

But she had made the best of it.

"You were so lonely," Eleanor muses. "I was always off pretending our family was perfect, while your father sought love…elsewhere."

"I had my friends," Blair reminds her. And the thought almost brings tears to her eyes—the non-judging breakfast club. They had always been there for her when her parents weren't around.

They had raised each other.

"You were always with them," Eleanor remembers fondly. She also remembers wishing—_hoping_—that Blair would marry Nate one day. He would have been a perfect match, not only in wealth and status, but to her daughter, he was her knight in shining armor.

"They were like a family to me," Blair replies, and there is the merest hint of an accusation in her voice.

"You have a family," Eleanor reminds her.

"I know," Blair says, and in truth, she does. She always has.

"I'll visit more often," Eleanor requests, and Blair has to wonder at when Eleanor had become so maternal. "Or you'll come here. You would be welcome with Cyrus and I, of course. And, of course, Léon is eager to see you again. Emmanuelle couldn't help but mention that he hadn't spared a moment in extolling your virtues."

There is a hint of suggestion in Eleanor's voice, and Blair knows this is something she must quell.

"I'm with Chuck," she blurts out, and the surprise is palpable on both ends—from Chuck, and from Eleanor.

"You don't beat around the bush," he murmurs into her ear, and his proximity sends a pleasant shiver down her spine.

"Blair—"

"I'm with Chuck," she repeats. "Nothing you can do or say will change my mind about that."

There is a moment of silence on Eleanor's end.

"I know," she admits. "I don't think I would be able to sway you if I wanted."

"If you wanted?" Blair clarifies.

"He makes you happy," Eleanor admits, though her tone is slightly reluctant.

"Happiest," Blair says simply.

"I'm not going to stand in your way," Eleanor tells her. "Just warn him that if he ever runs off with a male model, I will personally find him and—"

"Chuck isn't going to run off with a male model," Blair corrects, horrified.

"I never thought Harold would either," Eleanor confesses.

"Chuck isn't Daddy," Blair reminds her gently.

"I know," Eleanor says with a quiet sigh. "Speaking of your father, he has been asking when you're to visit as well."

"Soon," Blair promises.

"And considering Léon is absolutely smitten with you, you may want to let him down gently when you visit, Blair," Eleanor warns.

Blair clears her throat awkwardly, knowing that now may be the best time to break the news to her mother—when her defenses are down.

"I, well, ah, Léon is not the easiest to get along with," Blair says cautiously.

"Blair," Eleanor's tone is steely.

"I put up with him for the first two days," Blair protests. "But when…"

At this, Blair realizes that she and her mother may have repaired their relationship somewhat in the past half hour. But it does not mean that her mother should be privy to her schemes.

"When?" Eleanor prompts.

"All you need to know, mother, is that I was perfectly cordial to the man. It was only when his true nature was revealed was I forced to blackmail him."

"You're blackmailing him?" Eleanor inquires faintly.

"It was…necessary," Blair explains.

There is a pause on the other end, and for a moment, Blair worries that Eleanor has hung up, furious with her.

"You truly are my daughter," Eleanor says, and Blair can almost picture her shaking her head ruefully. "What needs to be done must be done, non?"

"Oui," Blair agrees with a laugh.

The two share a laugh, a rare moment in itself. One that continues for quite some time, until they are interrupted by a shout in the distance.

"Darling, I've got to run. Cyrus is calling, and we have an early appointment with the tailor. But I'll talk to you soon," Eleanor promises.

"Bye, mom," Blair says. "Love you."

Across the Atlantic, a wide smile stretches across Eleanor's face.

She could get used to this.

…

Nate isn't sure what to expect when he enters the Empire, but he figures he will pack a few bags and leave—there isn't anything immensely important to him here.

But from the valet's familiar nod, to the elevator operator's smile, Nate can't help but feel at _home_. More so than when he had entered his parents' home, which felt almost unfamiliar, though he had grown up within its lavishly decorated interior.

Nate knows what he does _not_ expect—and that is Chuck and Blair, sitting on the couch, waiting for him.

It is too late to turn around and run back to the elevator—though it is sorely tempting when faced with a Chuck-Blair ambush.

"Hey, Chuck, Blair," Nate attempts nonchalance, but if falls flat. "I'm just—"

"Moving out?" Chuck suggests, his tone cold. But Nate notices the flash of hurt in his expression—hurt he quickly covers up.

"Luke told us about your call," Blair explains.

"Your assistant isn't very good at keeping secrets," Nate tells Chuck with a laugh, but once more, his humor falls flat. Chuck's expression is cold, while Blair's remains neutral—and Nate wonders if there has ever existed a better pairing than the two, who are so alike it is frightening. At the same time, the pressing guilt weighs heavier on him when he notices Blair's hand, placed on Chuck's back, as if offering discreet support.

He had expected to feel angry at Chuck—for sleeping with Jenny and getting her pregnant—and Blair—for banishing Jenny. Instead, all he feels is the crushing sensation that he cannot tell either of them what he knows. And though he doesn't blame Jenny in the least for asking this of him, he silently berates himself for promising her this.

Because at this moment, Nate finally accepts what has been the truth all along.

It isn't Jenny's fault.

But it isn't Chuck's, either.

With Chuck being kept in the dark about the entire situation, Nate knows that he cannot blame his best friend for this.

The guilt closes in, and his breaths are shallow.

Blair narrows her eyes at him—not accusingly, but as though she is attempting to extract information from him by sheer will. It is so acutely Blair that it almost makes him smile, remembering times when she had narrowed her eyes at him, usually while demanding something.

Those memories lead him to another one—a situation where he had kept a secret for over a year, allowing the guilt to slowly eat away at him while Blair continued to love him.

He remembers how well _that_ had turned out. And though Nate is grateful that they have all somehow remained friends, found new love, and somehow, grown up, he knows that this situation will meet the same fate as the last time he kept something from his friends.

"I'm staying at the townhouse for the next little while," Nate announces, his tone almost apologetic.

"Why?"

Nate is surprised, to say in the least, that Blair can channel so much emotion into a single word, all while maintaining a perfectly emotionless expression.

"I have to…figure out some things," Nate hedges, already beginning to shuffle towards his room. He knows it is only a matter of time before he caves completely. And as much as Chuck deserves to know, Nate also knows that it is easier this way—for Jenny, for Chuck, for Blair, for…everyone.

He owes it to Jenny, not to tell her secret.

"Does it have anything to do with your little trip to Hudson?" Chuck finally says, his tone dripping condescension.

A flare of anger flickers across Nate's features, having grown almost protective of Jenny—especially in her current state.

"Yes," Nate replies simply, turning towards his bedroom without another word.

Neither Chuck nor Blair stop him.

* * *

tbc


	20. Chapter 19

**AN: Apologies for the delay, but I do hope to re-instate the twice a week updates now! Thank you all for reading, and thank you to the lovely bethaboo, who beta-s my work even when she is absolutely busy.**

* * *

"Where are you going?" Blair half-whispers, grabbing Chuck's sleeve as he makes his way towards the elevator.

"Out," Chuck replies stonily. "We've been stuck here all day, and if Nate doesn't want anything to do with me—"

Blair has the sudden urge to roll her eyes, but at the flicker of desolation that washed across Chuck's features, her expression softens.

"Chuck—"

"Don't, Blair."

"He's your best friend."

"Was," Chuck corrects her, and Blair looks at him, his face emotionless, completely closed off.

She knows that it is not merely sadness or anger over Nate's sudden change of heart in regards to their friendship—but the fact that another person was leaving him once again. And though Blair knows that she too had once left Chuck, she had come back.

From the resolve in Nate's expression, she isn't so sure he'll do the same.

"You need Nate," Blair tells him, standing and striding over to where he stands, coat in hand, still expressionless.

"I only need you," he replies simply, and though the words bring a smile to her lips, Blair shakes her head adamantly.

"You need Nate too, Chuck. Don't let him do this."

"You're talking as though Nate's breaking up with me," Chuck points out, but there is humor in his voice, meaning that his impassive stance had broken.

"I have scotch and two plane tickets to Vienna if he does," Blair teases, and it is with welcome relief that they both note there is no bitterness in his voice.

Blair can see Chuck's resolve beginning to crumble, and she nods at him, taking his arm and pushing him towards Nate's bedroom door.

"Go talk to Nate," she commands, positioning herself in front of the elevators. And though Chuck knows that Blair, tiny as she is, would not be a formidable opponent to cross physically, he also knows that she is as stubborn as him.

So he steps away, heading towards the double doors of Nate's bedroom. Only because he doesn't want Blair to withhold sex for a week, he tells himself.

But if he is being truthful to himself (he hardly ever is), he will admit that it is because he doesn't want to lose Nate's friendship.

"I'm staying at my parents', Chuck," Nate tells him with a sigh, avoiding eye contact as he dumps various articles of clothing and junk into a suitcase Chuck has never seen. "You're not going to make me change my mind."

"Maybe not, but Blair isn't going to allow you to leave," Chuck says with a shrug.

"Blair?" Nate furrows his brow. "I could take Blair."

Chuck looks at him dubiously and Nate reconsiders his statement.

"I'm leaving," he says firmly.

He tried, Chuck thinks, turning to leave. Giving up so easily is not in his nature, but this is one conversation he does not wish to have with Nate.

"Because you're pissed that I fucked Jenny Humphrey?" Chuck blurts out, fingertips wrapped around the handle of the door. He is not sure where the sentence comes from, considering he doesn't need a black eye when he has a board meeting the next day.

The packing stops abruptly, and the only sound heard throughout the penthouse is the quiet clicking of Blair's heels, as she paces in front of the elevator, no doubt.

Chuck turns around slowly, bracing himself for Nate's reaction. Whatever it will be, it won't be doing him any favors in terms of his appearance.

There is a lengthy sigh from Nate, and the blonde sits down on the bed heavily, head in his hands. When he finally looks up, meeting Chuck's eye for the first time, his expression is solemn.

"No," Nate begins slowly, struggling with his words. He is holding back, Chuck thinks, eyes narrowing at his best friend. He had known Nate long enough to tell when Nate was attempting not to blurt out a secret. How the guy had managed to keep the secret of his and Serena's tryst from Blair for so long, Chuck would never know.

"Care to elaborate why, then?" Chuck bites out, still attempting to figure out what Nate is hiding from him. It has something to do with Jenny, that he is sure of.

Another sigh from Nate, this one punctuated by an expression that is halfway between pained and yearning.

"Spit it out, Archibald."

"It's not my secret to tell," Nate says slowly, still choosing his word carefully.

"Then it's Jenny's secret," Chuck states, rather than asks. There is no other alternative.

And from the expression on Nate's face—this one halfway between fear and trepidation—Chuck knows he is right.

"What happened in Hudson?" Chuck asks, his voice dangerously low. Jenny had already almost ruined his relationship with Blair—and although that had been mostly his doing, Chuck wasn't about to let her get in between him and Nate.

"I can't say," Nate says briefly. In an instant, Chuck understands his brevity—Nate knows him well enough to know that Chuck would catch any slip. And Nate is prone to slips.

"What _can_ you say, Nathaniel?" Chuck retorts.

Nate considers this, staring off into nothing while—Chuck assumes—composing a carefully worded speech.

"I can say that…I'm staying at my parents' for the next while. I don't know when I'll be back, and I'll send someone over for the rest of my stuff."

"Meaning you won't be back," Chuck states.

"Meaning that coming here was a mistake," Nate corrects him. "I shouldn't have—"

"Come back? No, Nathaniel, you should have stayed in Hudson, if Jenny's so important to you."

Chuck's tone is cruel, but fails to incite any anger in Nate—the guilt of not telling Chuck is weighing too heavily on him to feel any other emotion.

"She _is_ important to me," Nate says frostily, and he almost kicks himself. The words had been unplanned, a response to Chuck's words. Words meant to provoke an angry reply from Nate.

Chuck's expression doesn't fall, his mask remaining firmly in place as he holds open the door, gesturing for Nate to exit.

"If she's so important, you belong with her, then," Chuck says flatly. The anger is barely noticeable in his voice. There is only remorse. Though what the remorse is for, Nate cannot say.

"I'll see you around," Nate mutters, sweeping by him with barely a glance. Already three steps out the door, he spots Blair, standing guard in front of the elevators.

His expression pleads with her to move, but she remains where she is, glaring at him with an intensity he is familiar with. It's the same glare she used to shoot her minions, the ones who sat three steps below her and would wear leggings as pants.

Nate begins to wonder how long they will all stand there, simply staring each other down, when Blair breaks her fierce glare, glancing over his shoulder. What she sees, is presumably Chuck. What she sees in Chuck's expression, Nate doesn't know. He only knows that whatever she saw prompts her to move, allowing him to pass, albeit, begrudgingly.

Her expressions softens, and she walks past Nate—shooting him one final glare—before stepping in front of Chuck, placing her small hands on his chest. Nate watches them in slight wonderment, noticing that Chuck's expression had softened as well, his arms encircling her waist.

What Blair says to Chuck, Nate cannot hear, as he is half-inside the elevator already. He can only see the way Chuck's walls crumble; the way Blair so effortlessly understands _him_.

He has never seen anything like it.

"Chuck," he says quietly, and the two look at him in surprise, as if they had forgotten he was there.

Or as if they expected him gone already.

"I'm glad you have Blair," Nate says awkwardly. "Don't screw things up this time."

And before Chuck can get a word in, Nate steps into the elevator, suitcase in hand, and presses the button for the lobby.

The last thing he sees is Chuck turning away from the elevator, away from him.

Towards Blair.

…

"Chuck?" Blair asks quietly. They had been sitting on the couch for the greater part of an hour after Nate had left, not speaking though their actions spoke volumes.

"Are you going to be okay?" Blair asks, her voice almost meek, if only because she is not sure the question is appropriate in regards to the situation.

"I think Nate just broke up with me," Chuck announces, referring to her earlier words. Somehow, Blair doesn't find them as humorous now.

"Scotch and Vienna?"

"No," Chuck shakes his head. "Just you."

…

"It's not that funny," Blair shakes her head at a giggling Serena, although she has to admit, the sentence does sound more comical than she had previously thought.

"It is," Serena assures her, not making the slightest effort to hide her smirk. "Chuck actually said that Nate broke up with him?"

"No," Blair replies shortly, Serena's laugh already beginning to irritate her. "He mentioned that I was acting as though Nate was about to break up with him. And I ran with it."

Serena shakes her head, the last of her laughs beginning to peter out, and she returns to the original topic of the discussion. "So Nate just…packed up and left?"

"Yes," Blair says briefly, unsure of whether or not to mention Nate's parting words—she herself cannot understand why Nate had said them as though he were saying goodbye for an extended period of time.

"But why?" Serena frowns. "I don't remember Chuck doing anything to Nate—"

"He went to Hudson to visit Jenny," Blair supplies flatly, her voice monotone.

"Oh," Serena says quietly. "I'd forgotten. Did he mention—"

"Jenny's keeping something," Blair interrupts, and Serena looks up from her robin's egg blue nails to wide, almost fearful, brown eyes. "Little J has a secret and Nate knows."

"Why do you care if Jenny's keeping a secret from us?" Serena inquires, and there is not a trace of an accusation in her voice—merely curiosity. Blair knows that her banning Jenny had been a point of contention between her and Serena. But she also knows that Serena will always be on her side.

Well. Almost always.

"Because," Blair sighs in defeat. "If Nate won't tell us, and is purposely _avoiding_ us, it can only mean that the secret has something to do with us…or Chuck."

"Blair," Serena says gently. "What happened between Chuck and Jenny happened a long time ago."

"Nearly nine months ago," Blair supplies with a wince.

"Exactly," Serena says earnestly. "A lot has happened since then. Chuck's…changed since then."

"I know," Blair replies wearily. "It's not Chuck that's bothering me. It's _Jenny_. Who would've thought that after I banished her, she would _still_ return to ruin my life?"

"Now you're being overdramatic," Serena teases with a small smile, and she is grateful for Blair's venomous glare—it means that Blair is still, well, _Blair_. "She's not ruining your life, B."

"But she's in Hudson and has somehow managed to brainwash Nate into hating us," Blair seethes.

"Nate hates us?" Serena cries.

"S, have you not been listening to a word—"

"Only that he's moved out of the Empire…temporarily—"

"No, for good," Blair corrects.

"You said he mentioned he was staying at his parents' place for a _short while_," Serena points out.

"Yes, well, he's clearly not coming back anytime soon," Blair snaps.

"This is Nate," Serena tells her calmly. "He's as much a part of our non-judging breakfast club as all of us. He wouldn't abandon us because he wants to keep Jenny's secret."

"You seem to have gained some incredible insight into everyone," Blair says wryly, but her expression is slightly less frantic than before.

"What can I say?" Serena says airily, tossing her hair. "I'm a van der Woodsen."

Blair simply smirks, and Serena laughs at her own antics.

"But I will ask Dan to talk to Nate," Serena adds.

"Daniel?" Blair wrinkles her nose.

"He did talk to Nate a few days ago," Serena asserts.

"And if I recall correctly, you meant to talk to Nate too," Blair reminds her.

"You haven't talked to Nate either," Serena mentions.

"I'll give him a call later today."

The implication is clear.

_If you do too_.

"I'll call him after this," Serena concedes, and Blair smiles, triumphant.

…

Nate has another fit of hesitancy when he sees _SERENA_ flash on the screen. On one hand, talking to Serena has always left him strangely more at peace with whatever issues he has—even if they don't actually _talk_ about the issues because Serena has always had a talent of making people laugh. But at the same time, Nate knows Serena is only calling him because of what transpired at the Empire.

And while she may have a talent for making others laugh, she also has an inclination for questions.

But his day thus far had included nothing beyond eating peanut butter and playing Wii (which, he has decided, is far less entertaining without Eric's—or Chuck's— presence).

"Hey, Serena."

"Nate," her voice is relieved, and also partly surprised. Nate wonders when he got such a reputation for not picking up phone calls.

"How are you?" he asks cordially, and he can tell Serena is longing to say something other than her perfunctory, "Good, and you?"

"I guess you heard about my visit to the Empire." Nate sighs in defeat, knowing that it would be better to get it out of the way first.

"I did," Serena acknowledges. "Chuck's pretty broken up over it."

"Chuck?"

"He's your best friend," Serena retorts.

"He has Blair," Nate reminds her, and Serena doesn't miss the slight jealousy in his voice. And she wonders if it is jealousy over the time Chuck is spending with Blair—or if it is an, albeit ironic, jealousy over their relationship.

"She misses you too," Serena pleads. "We all do, Nate. I remember keeping a secret, and having to run away to _Connecticut_ just to keep it a secret. Don't make the same mistake I did."

"I'm not leaving New York," Nate points out. "I'm still here."

"But you're isolating yourself from us," Serena insists. "We're your friends, Nate. Your problems are our problems."

"I don't have a problem," Nate says automatically.

"Then why—"

"I've got to go, Serena, I'll talk to you later," Nate excuses himself quickly, and Serena sighs, flopping down on her bed.

_Unsuccessful, your turn. _

…

Blair frowns at her phone, knowing that putting Serena up for the job had not been her brightest of ideas. Serena's text message looms in front of her eyes, and though Blair hates to admit it, her conversation with Nate had been short-lived as well.

It was apparent that none of them had any success.

And with that thought, Blair knows that she will have to play a card she hoped never to use.

She will have to ask Dan Humphrey to help in their scheme.

Bracing herself, Blair calls Serena.

…

"Mom."

"Dan," Alison's voice is welcoming, but the door opens no wider than the width of her face.

"I'm here to see Jenny," Dan announces, craning his neck around his mother, attempting to see through the crack. It is a futile attempt.

"She's not—"

"Taking visitors. I know, I was told that at least twenty times on my last visit. You told Dad the same thing around fifty times. And yet, you allowed Nate to see Jenny."

Alison's eyes flash dangerously, but Dan remains stoically calm. It is not the first time he has been met with his mother's refusal.

"I'm here to see Jenny," Dan repeats. And there is a conviction, a resolve, in his voice that has always withered beneath Alison's glare prior. He stares straight, meeting his mother's gaze defiantly.

"_Failure is not an option, Humphrey."_ _Blair had all but snarled, her petite stature contradictory with the ease with which she commanded him._

"_Yes, Commander Waldorf, sir," Dan had replied impudently, eliciting a giggle (hidden behind a manicured hand) from Serena, and a glare from Blair._

The look across Alison's face is one of surprise—Dan standing up to her is not something she is particularly used to.

"I'll…I'll talk to her," Alison concedes.

"I'm not leaving till I see her," Dan adds.

Alison looks at her only son, and from his fiercely determined expression, she knows that Dan wouldn't leave.

They don't have a choice anymore.

…

"Hello?" Serena whispers sleepily into her phone, careful not to wake Blair, who is, for once, sleeping in the Waldorf penthouse. The two had decided that they needed a girl's night—complete with Vosges truffles, manicures, pedicures, massages, and a never-ending loop of Audrey movies. Blissfully happy, the two had fallen asleep to _Roman Holiday_, until Serena found herself being woken by Dan's ringtone.

"Serena." Dan's voice is panicked, and the fear is palpable through the phone.

"What's wrong?" she murmurs, still half-asleep, carefully slipping into her own room, closing the door behind her. Blair has not stirred the entire time—but Serena wouldn't put it past her best friend to be simply _pretending_ to sleep.

"It's Jenny," Dan's sighs.

"Did you see her?" Serena prompts, feeling more awake than she had moments ago. They had expected Dan to be unsuccessful at first, never expecting that he would have gleaned information so quickly.

"I did," Dan says in dismay.

"And?"

There is a long, drawn-out sigh from Dan's end, and a knot forms in Serena's stomach, coiling tighter as she climbs into her own bed, having donned more appropriate sleepwear.

"Is she ok?" Serena asks gently.

"That depends on how you define 'ok'," Dan says thoughtfully, and Serena furrows her brow. It is two in the morning, and she is not in the mood to be playing mind games with Dan.

"Dan," she pleads. "It's two in the morning. Could you please tell me what you need to tell me, or at least let me call you back in the morning?"

"I—" Dan hesitates, "I think you better come up here, Serena."

"To Hudson?" Serena asks dubiously. "I don't think I'll be—"

"Trust me," Dan says convincingly. "I don't think Jenny would want me to tell you this over the phone. She's already sworn me to secrecy, and I can't—"

"We've been over this," Serena says soothingly. "It won't be betraying Jenny's trust because we can help her."

"That's an excuse," Dan retorts, and Serena frowns. Whatever is wrong with Jenny is clearly angering Dan. "You _know_ that's not a true reason."

"Dan—"

"Please." Dan's voice turns pleading, and Serena is slightly taken aback by the sudden change in his tone. "Please, Serena. Just come up to Hudson. You can go immediately back to the city, I promise."

The vulnerable, pleading quality to his voice gets to Serena, and before she knows it, she finds herself agreeing to go to Hudson.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she promises. "I love you."

Dan repeats the sentiment, and Serena shuts off her phone, wanting nothing more than to climb in amongst her down pillows and warm blankets.

But Dan's anxious voice lingers in the back of her mind, and she one tosses and turns for most of the night.

Serena just wishes this were all over with.

…

"Chuck?" Blair whispers sleepily. She doesn't need to be fully awake to know that it is Chuck who has slid into bed beside her, arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her closer to him.

"What time is it?" she murmurs, turning towards him instinctually.

"Four in the morning," Chuck whispers back.

"Why are you here?" Blair asks with a yawn, attempting to make out his expression through the darkness. She momentarily curses Serena for pulling the heavy drapes closed—the moonlight (or in Manhattan, streetlights) would have been useful in making out Chuck's face. But then, in an oddly sweet gesture, Chuck brushes his lips against her forehead, telling her to go back to sleep.

She doesn't need to see his face to know what he's feeling. And so Blair acquiesces almost immediately, and she is near sleeping in mere minutes. But then Chuck shifts slightly, and Blair remembers her prior question.

"Why are you here?" she repeats, though it is barely coherent, her being half-asleep.

"I couldn't sleep," Chuck admits.

Blair falls asleep with a smile on her face.

* * *

tbc


	21. Chapter 20

**AN: I know not everyone (read: no one!) is too keen on this storyline, so thank you to everyone who's stuck around. I love you all. Also, apologies for the lack of review replies - but I shall (hopefully) be updating more frequently! And to bethaboo, who never ceases to amaze when it comes to her beta-ing skills, thank you!**

* * *

"Hudson, really, S?" Blair asks disdainfully into her phone. Her morning had started off blissfully—but upon discovering Serena's note, had taken a turn for the worse. With Chuck off at a meeting, Blair found herself increasingly irritated with the pink sticky note. There _was_ a reason they had sent Humphrey there.

"Dan needs me," Serena defends.

"I need you too," Blair points out. "Besides, what about school?"

"I shouldn't be more than a day or two. Three days at the most," Serena promises. "I've got to go, I'm almost at—"

Blair sighs heavily. "Have fun with Brooklyn and Little J."

"I'll see you soon, B," Serena assures her.

…

_One Week Later_

"I haven't heard from her in a week," Blair frowns, glancing down at her silent phone. She hadn't heard anything since Serena had promised to be back in three days—which was exactly four days ago. Her calls had gone ignored, and Lily and Eric hadn't heard anything from Serena either.

"We should call the police," Blair declares, for the thirty-first time that day.

Chuck raises an eyebrow, and Blair collapses in defeat.

"But she's in _Hudson_," Blair says the word with all the loathing she can muster. "With _Humphrey_."

"The worst that can happen is Serena comes back wearing obscene amounts of plaid and eating waffles all day," Chuck points out.

The look of horror Blair gives him tells him that _that_ in itself is terrifying.

"We have to save her," Blair insists.

"From the plaid? Or Humphrey?"

Blair considers this. "As much as I hate to admit it, Cabbage Patch makes her…happy. And I'm not going to stand in the way of that."

"Even if—"

"Even if it means that I'll eventually have to grant Jenny entrance back into my city." Blair finishes his sentence for him, and the expression Chuck wears informs her that her assumptions were correct.

"It just won't be any time soon," Blair adds quickly.

"So we're not going to go save Serena," Chuck clarifies.

"I'll give her two more days," Blair declares. "Then we're going to—" she shudders delicately "—_Hudson_."

…

"Blair called again."

"She's persistent," Dan observes.

"Have you _met_ Blair?" Serena asks, shaking her head. "I'm surprised she hasn't sent a cavalry up here."

"I'm guessing Chuck's keeping her occupied," Dan shrugs. He is, of course, referring to the numerous Gossip Girl posts that tracked Chuck and Blair's every move—from ice cream at Serendipity's to shopping at Barney's. With Nate in seclusion and Serena and Dan holed up in Hudson, Gossip Girl had been grappling for any information she could get her hands on.

Dan and Serena no longer blame Nate for wanting to distance himself from the rest of them, if anything, they wonder if they would do the same, given the choice. But they will never have the same opportunity as Nate, and they know full well that part of Blair's insistence in calling is due to the fact that she wants to know about Jenny.

And that is something they cannot tell her.

Serena had, of course, wanted to phone Blair as soon as she found out. Before anyone had said anything, she had been led to a couch, sat down, and all but forced to promise that she must not tell _anyone_. Serena, of course, hadn't taken it seriously, laughing it off with a toss of her hair.

She's serious now.

Dan had all but wrestled her phone away from her—she had grabbed it as soon as she had recovered from the shock. Dan had also eventually convinced her to hold off on telling Blair. For Blair's sake, he had argued. And though she felt obligated to tell Blair, Serena had agreed with him. Blair was _happy_. Truly happy. And to tell her would ruin everything.

This isn't something they can easily overcome.

Although, as Dan had pointed out, if all went according to plan, Jenny would deliver the baby, and give it up for adoption. Nate is even less likely to tell Chuck and Blair than they are, and the secret would remain a secret…presumably forever. But Serena knows that while Dan may have more of an obligation towards his sister, she has an obligation towards _her_ sister. Not telling Blair would preserve the euphoric state they are currently occupying. But if the truth were to ever come out, Serena knows that she will be right next to Chuck in terms of betrayal.

In short, she is torn.

And so, she is biding her time, smiling weakly when Jenny walks past and attempting to avoid the house altogether—difficult when Dan insists on visiting every day, to check up on his sister.

Then again, there isn't much to do in Hudson. Serena has not properly talked to Jenny yet, but if she ever does, she makes a mental note to ask the girl what fun there is to be had in the town. Fun being tourist attractions, not bars and clubs, she amends.

But the sound of heavy footfalls comes closer, and Serena closes her eyes, wincing slightly as Jenny rounds the corner.

"Hi, Jenny," Serena says politely, and Dan stands up to give his sister a hug—albeit an awkward one, due to the size of her stomach.

"Serena," Jenny acknowledges. There is no warmth in her voice, but there is no anger.

"How are you?"

It is a routine conversation.

"Good, I suppose. You?"

"Great."

Their words are so mechanical, they are almost rehearsed. But then Jenny turns to Dan, whispering something, so that Serena cannot hear. Serena simply turns her head, accustomed to the whispers.

"I'm going to go take Argus for a walk," Dan announces, and Serena collects her things, ready to follow him.

"Do you mind staying with me, Serena?" Jenny asks meekly, and Serena looks at her in surprise, and then rounds on Dan, who smiles sheepishly.

Trapped, Serena can only nod and smile feebly as Dan sends her an apologetic smile.

"How are you feeling?" Serena ventures, when Jenny finally sits down across from her, not meeting her eyes.

"Fine," Jenny replies shortly. "It's nearly the end of my term…it's due any day now."

"You don't know the gender?" Serena asks conversationally, although she has already known this from Dan—in all honesty, she is simply trying to keep the conversation form going to Chuck and Blair. Because there is simply nothing else that Jenny would want to talk about with her.

Jenny shakes her head adamantly. "I don't want to know anything about this baby. I'm going to deliver it, and give it away. I don't want to know this baby."

"Okay," Serena agrees, slightly taken aback by the ferocity in Jenny's voice.

"Sorry," Jenny apologizes, sighing heavily. "Hormones," she explains with a humorless laugh.

"It's going to be over soon," Serena tells her, attempting an encouraging smile. "Then things can go back to…normal."

"They were never normal to begin with," Jenny says, and Serena can't find it in herself to disagree. "And I'm still banished from New York."

"Blair was…angry," Serena reasons. "I'm sure, now that she's had time to cool off, she'll allow—"

"Not if this ever gets out," Jenny replies darkly.

"Is that why you're so adamant on giving up this baby?" Serena asks incredulously. "Because of Blair?"

"No!" Jenny insists. "At least, not entirely."

"Then it's Chuck," Serena prods, narrowing her eyes. She knows that if Dan were here, he would be glaring at her—but she can't help herself once she's started.

"No," Jenny declares. "It's because I…I just want to have a normal life again."

Serena's expression softens almost instantly.

"And I can't do that as a teenage mom," Jenny admits. "Or if Blair decides to wreck my life even more."

"Blair can be vicious," Serena agrees, wincing at the recollection of her own destruction at Blair's hands. "But she's not cruel. Despite what you may think, Blair isn't some _monster_. It's just her way of…protecting herself. And the people she loves."

"And this is my way of protecting myself…and _them_," Jenny persists. "I just need you to promise me, Serena. Promise me you won't say a thing to Chuck and Blair."

Serena looks at Jenny, whose blue eyes are wide and pleading, her expression nearing begging, one hand on her distended stomach.

"Okay," Serena acquiesces, closing her eyes. "I promise."

"Thank you," Jenny breathes.

There is a moment of silence, wherein Serena wars with herself, hating the fact that she has just betrayed her best friend. But at the same time, she is protecting her best friend as well—and her step-brother.

"So you're sure?" Serena ventures, when the clock's incessant ticking becomes too much for her.

"About giving up the baby?" Jenny asks, her voice only slightly irritated.

"I'm sorry," Serena says automatically. "I didn't mean to pry—"

"It's alright," Jenny tells her, rueful smile on her face. "My mom keeps asking me that question."

"I keep telling her I'm sure."

Jenny looks straight at Serena as she says this, but the way she says it, makes it sound like she is trying to convince herself more than she is trying to convince Serena.

But before she can point this out, Jenny winces, small hands fisting and eyes clenching shut.

"It's nothing," she gasps, when Serena rushes over to her. "I'm fine, this has been going on for the past few days."

"This early?" Serena asks, concerned. She may not have much experience in pregnancies, but surely contractions didn't happen _this _early.

"I'm due in about two weeks," Jenny reminds her, sitting back with another wince. "The doctor said this is perfectly normal."

"Okay," Serena says uneasily. "Can I get you anything?"

"Maybe a glass of water?" Jenny requests, still breathing heavily.

Serena is halfway out of the room when another loud whimper is heard. Whipping around, she finds Jenny nearly falling off the couch, face screwed up in pain.

"And maybe my mom, too?" Jenny whimpers, clutching her stomach.

Serena is already on the phone.

…

"How is she?" Serena bites her lip, pulling the coat tighter around her, attempting to ward off the cold chill of the hospital. The name had always been ironic to her, because to Serena, hospitals had been nothing but _inhospitable_.

"The doctor's with her now," Dan says tiredly, sitting down beside her. "They're not sure if this is false labor or the real thing just yet."

"But she—"

"Apparently contractions like those are common in the later stages of pregnancy," Dan repeats the doctor's words mechanically, and Serena can see worry etched into his features.

"Dan—"

"He said it was more likely there would be…complications." Dan grimaced. "Because of Jenny's age, for one."

"Jenny's a fighter," Serena starts, but Dan interrupts her.

"If it weren't for Jenny asking me _not_ to tell him, I would kill that bastard for knocking up my teenage sister and—"

"Dan," Serena interrupts gently. When her interruption goes unheeded, Dan continuing his tirade and beginning to draw stares from those around them, she raises her voice.

"Dan," Serena repeats, voice sterner.

"You can't possibly—"

"It's not Chuck's fault," she reminds him. "It takes two people to…make a baby." The last part is said awkwardly, but her words have their desired effect as Dan deflates almost instantly.

"I know," Dan says with a long sigh. "You've told me this a thousand times—Jenny, too. But I just can't—"

"It's not Chuck's fault any more than it is Jenny's," Serena tells him firmly. "If we're going to move on from this, you need to accept that."

"We?" Dan questions.

"Jenny, of course…but also you. Me. Nate. We've all been affected by this, and if we're to keep our promise—"

"Chuck and Blair will never know," Dan finishes for her. Serena searches his expression for clues as to what he is feeling, but she finds nothing but confusion. A thousand emotions are on full display across Dan's features—anger, frustration, defeat, outrage, sorrow, loss, and, perhaps even relief.

"They can't ever know," Serena agrees, closing her eyes tightly against the tears that threaten to escape. Why she is crying, she doesn't even know.

"We promised," Dan says grimly. Though Serena can tell that he is thinking along the same lines as her. That this secret is a secret that must be taken to their graves. To tell Chuck and Blair, even years in the future when Jenny's child is grown-up and possibly living in another country, would destroy them all. It is not something Serena can foresee Chuck and Blair getting past—not now, or ever. And with time, Serena knows that the betrayal will only get worse.

"How can I ever face her again?" Serena asks fearfully. "I'm keeping this from her intentionally, and when she asks what we found out—"

"We lie," Dan says firmly.

"We don't even have a good lie," Serena cries. "We wouldn't be able to do this, Dan. We're not Chuck and Blair. We can't deceive and scheme as well as they can. They would be able to see straight through us in a second. They would make it their mission to find out what's wrong, and when they do, they'll know that we lied. They'll know that we betrayed them, that we—"

"Serena," Dan says gently, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. Serena's babbly stops as she buries her head into his chest, her breathing becoming more even.

"What are we going to do?" she moans.

"I don't know," Dan answers truthfully. "There's no…right or wrong here. Just Chuck and Blair on one side, and Jenny on the other."

"No one wins," Serena adds. "If we tell them…they'll be destroyed for good. But if we don't tell them…"

"They may never find out," Dan remarks hopefully. "They could live their entire lives blissfully unaware. Jenny _is_ intending to give up the baby."

"Speaking of…" Serena pushes herself up, so she can look Dan in the eye. "Dan, I don't think Jenny wants to give up the baby."

"But—"

"She asked me to promise never to tell Chuck and Blair," Serena continues, ignoring Dan's interruption. "But the way she talked about the baby…it was like she was trying to convince herself."

"It's for the best," Dan argues. "If she kept the baby, it would be nearly impossible to keep Chuck and Blair from finding out."

"It is," Serena agrees with a sigh. "But the way she spoke, Dan…I can't imagine what she's going through. Jenny may be young, but that is her _child_. She's doesn't want to give it up because of who the father is—but because she wants a _normal_ life, Dan. She wants to be normal again."

"Normal," Dan repeats. His voice is almost nostalgic, as if recalling a long-lost toy long forgotten in the back of a drawer. "We were normal, once."

Before Serena can respond, Alison appears from Jenny's room, the picture of calm.

"Jenny's in labor," she says, her voice almost robotic. The only emotion displayed is in her eyes, which are both frantic and agonized at once. "The doctor's confirmed it. She's asking for you two."

Dan and Serena share one last glance before they stand up, Dan reaching for Serena's hand and grasping it tightly, turning to face the door to Jenny's hospital room.

And suddenly, they are not twenty, but merely five again, on their way to Kindergarten for the first time, afraid of some unknown entity because they know, somehow, that this is a moment that will change their lives.

Serena squeezes Dan's hand, and they push the door open together.

…

"You miss Serena."

"You miss Nate."

Chuck raises an eyebrow at Blair, whose mood has not improved in the least. If anything, Gossip Girl's grating posts about Serena's whereabouts had irritated her more.

"I'm just worried," Blair replies defensively, tossing her hair over her shoulder and flipping a page of _Vogue_ so quickly it nearly rips.

"Whatever secret _she's_ keeping, it won't affect—"

"But it _will_," Blair snaps. "You know it as well as I do, Chuck. You know that whatever it is, it's going to send everything spiraling out of control again."

Tears collect in her eyes, but she refuses to let them fall, blinking deftly to quell the unwanted tears.

"You really think so?" Chuck asks darkly, not because he is not unafraid of Jenny's secret—in truth, he is probably as frightened as her. He was just loath to show it.

Blair forces out a heavy sigh, shoulders rounding as she sat her chin in her hands, in a very un-Blair-like move.

"You said you trusted me," Chuck implores, and his tone is not accusatory, but beseeching her instead.

"I do," Blair assures him. "I just don't trust _her_. And you—you promised you wouldn't run."

"I won't," Chuck replies simply. And when Blair looks at him, _really_ looks at him, she can tell that his earnestness is genuine.

"Whatever it is, it won't come between us," Chuck tells her, when his prior assurance had elicited no tangible response.

"How can you be so sure?" Blair bites her lip, every transgression that has come between them—both his and hers—running through her mind.

"Because I'm Chuck Bass. And you're Blair Waldorf."

Blair has a feeling she knows what comes next.

"And one day, you're going to be Blair Bass. I won't let anything stand in the way of that."

…

Serena emerges from the room first. After the first ten minutes, an extremely uncomfortable Dan had been sent out of the room by an extremely irate Jenny—who, upon Alison's urging, had opted for a natural birth. Meaning that an epidural was out of the question.

Serena looks exhausted, to say in the least. The delivery had taken nine hours, which, to Dan, had seemed never-ending.

"It's a boy!" Serena exclaims, and although the situation is something neither of them would ever have imagined, it is a joyous occasion nevertheless. It is not ideal, nor is it conventional, but the birth of a child, no matter the circumstances, has the ability to elicit happiness in some form or another.

"A boy," Dan murmurs, and he is almost afraid to ask the first question that pops into his head.

"A boy," Serena nods, and though she is wearing a yellow hospital gown and her hair is matted and sweaty, she manages a bright smile. "He's a preemie. Tiny. Tinier than my jewellery box at home—" Serena pauses to laugh "—and he's got the cutest little fingers and toes, and—"

"Who does he look like?" Dan blurts out the question quickly, hoping to get it over with as quickly as possible. The image of a tiny, smirking, mini-Chuck pops into his mind, and he turns to Serena with an expression of fear.

"Jenny," Serena says, after a moment's hesitation. "His hair is so light, he looks like he hasn't any hair at all." She smiles at this, and Dan breathes out a sigh of quiet relief.

"That was Jenny." He remembers with a fond smile. "In pictures, she looked bald until she was about two years old."

Serena laughs lightly at this, continuing on with her description of the baby boy's features. "A tiny little nose, _exactly_ like Jenny's. And he has her eyebrows too, I think—" At this, Dan raises _his_ eyebrows, but Serena simply shrugs "—but his eyes aren't blue."

For a moment, Dan is gripped with the fear that they are a deep, almost-black, brown—Chuck's own dark eyes.

"They're green," Serena is quick to assure him.

"Green?"

"Yeah," Serena shrugs, frowning slightly. "I guess one of your grandparents or…" She trails off because the inclusion of Chuck's name is not something either of them want to introduce into the conversation. Although it had been lingering for the five minutes since Serena had burst into the corridor.

"Well there must have been green eyes somewhere," Serena amends quickly.

"I guess so," Dan assents, though his expression says otherwise. He doesn't recall green eyes _anywhere_ in his family tree. Then again, Rufus and Alison had never been too forthcoming with relatives.

"He'll be a beautiful little boy," Serena murmurs. And they both know what she is thinking.

It's too bad they won't be around to witness that.

"Do you want to see him?" Serena asks, apprehension—and hope—clear in her voice.

"Shouldn't he be in an incubator or something?" Dan hedges.

Serena shakes her head. "His lungs are fully developed—or at least that's what the doctor said. He's small, but fine. He's with…well…Jenny's holding him. They do want to keep him here for a while. In an incubator."

From the slight agitation in Serena's voice, Dan knows that the latter part of her sentence worries her as much as it worries him.

"Let's go," Dan complies, albeit slightly reluctantly.

They enter the room, Serena pulling him slightly as Dan hangs back, wanting to observe before he has to react. Wanting to be able to form a proper reaction, one that doesn't include hating the child at first sight simply because he hates the father.

_This is my nephew_, he tells himself, watching Serena's face because everyone else is watching him—waiting for his reaction. Alison gives him a warning look from her corner, where she is speaking quietly into a phone. Too quietly for Dan to make out anything she is saying.

He peeks around Serena and looks at his sister. Jenny is watching him apprehensively, a look of trepidation clear on her face. Her blonde hair is tangled; her expression exhausted, but in her arms is a baby, swaddled in the lightest of sky blue blankets. His face is barely visible, but he is as small as Serena had mentioned, Dan thinks with a small smile.

There is an audible sigh of relief when the rest of the room sees that smile.

"He's cute," he admits, and Jenny beams at him.

The odd thing is—and Dan is grateful for this—the baby looks absolutely nothing like Chuck. He had expected some sort of similarity, but looking closely at the baby, he can see not a trace of Bass.

"He's _perfect_," Serena breathes, and she is looking at the baby over Dan's shoulder, captivated.

"He is," Jenny agrees, and the admission brings about an expression of utter despondence, replacing her content smile.

"Jenny," Alison interrupts gently, having just gotten off the phone. "Jenny, the woman we spoke to, Kayla, from the adoption agency, will be here soon."

"Soon?" Jenny asks, and she unconsciously hugs her baby closer.

"There's some paperwork that needs to be done," Alison says carefully. "But if you want to wait—"

"No," Jenny says, determined. Lying back on her pillows, her child still cradled in her arms, she heaves a sigh. "It's for the best."

Alison nods, biting her lip as she exits the room. She doesn't know what to say—she never expected she would be in this situation, having to take care of her pregnant teenage daughter.

Serena looks directly at Dan, and her words come back to him. He knows what she wants him to say—knows that Serena cannot convince Jenny to keep the baby.

Only he has the capability to do so.

Problem is, he's not sure he wants to.

But looking at Jenny's tired expression, the way she hugs the child closer, her eyes riveted on his face, Dan knows that he has no choice.

This isn't what _he_ wants to do. This is what Jenny wants to do. She just needs someone to push her in the right direction.

"Jenny," he begins tentatively, and he looks back in time to catch Serena's reassuring smile before she slips out the door.

"Are you sure you want to give up this baby?"

Jenny's eyes flash, and though she continues to stare down at the baby, as if memorizing his face for future reference, she nods adamantly, not meeting Dan's eyes.

"This is what's best for everyone. I'm seventeen, Dan. I'm not exactly cut out to be a _mother_. This would ruin everything. Not to mention, it would be a little hard to start over with a baby in tow."

Jenny's words are sharp, but they are more rehearsed than anything. They are not meant to convince Dan, but herself.

"You know what you want, Jen. Whatever the ramifications are, we'll deal with it. We'll deal with Chuck and Blair." At the mention of the two names, Jenny squeezes her eyes shut, as if she were attempting to force them from her life entirely.

"No. I've made my decision, Dan."

She turns away from him then, as much as she can with a baby in her arms.

He knows the conversation is over for good when Jenny says curtly, "Please send mom in on your way out."

"Jenny wants you," he tells Alison, who leaps to her feet in seconds. "But you should probably postpone Kayla's visit. And don't tell Jenny why."

Serena takes his hand.

…

Dan doesn't know when he became this person. Going behind his girlfriend's back and stealing her phone is _not_ something Dan Humphrey would do.

But Jenny is his family—and that little boy is his family too. He knows what he needs to do.

With a final sigh, Dan presses _send_.

And his eyes fall closed as he drops his head against the wall of the bathroom stall, waiting for a relief that does not come.

Guilt settles into his chest, and he finds it more and more difficult to breathe.

_It's for the best_, he tells himself. The thought runs in a never-ending reel in his head, as if repetition makes things come true.

He can only hope.

* * *

tbc


	22. Chapter 21

**AN: Prepare yourselves... (and thanks to my lovely reviewers, and bethaboo, as always).**

* * *

"It just doesn't make any sense," Blair says for the hundredth time, re-reading the text for the thousandth time. "It doesn't even _sound_ like S."

"It doesn't," Chuck agrees, reading the text over her shoulder. "Serena knows better than to drag us up to _Hudson_."

Blair shudders lightly. "She's going to get hell for this. No way I'm letting her borrow my shoes now," Blair declares, but though her words are firm, her expression betrays worry.

"So we'll rescue Serena, leave Humphrey behind, and be back in New York within the day," Chuck reassures Blair. "Serena does always need rescuing."

She laughs, but when she re-reads the text for the thousandth-and-one time, her anxiousness returns.

_Need you in Hudson, bring Chuck with you. - Serena_

…

"So what do we do now?" Serena asks wearily, dropping down unceremoniously on the couch. The excitement, the apprehension, the whirlwind of emotions that encompassed the entire night, all proved too much for her. For Dan too, as he plops down beside her with an exhausted sigh.

"Nothing," Dan says sleepily, barely able to keep one eye open. "We just let things…happen."

"You talked to her?" Serena pushes, not willing to let it go.

"I did," Dan winces at the memory of what he did _after_ talking to Jenny, but he pushes it out of his exhausted mind. He can deal with that later.

"I guess there's nothing else we can do," Serena agrees with a sigh. "There's no way I'll involve Chuck _or_ Blair in this, and if you couldn't talk her out of it, no one can. I guess we could always try Nate, but—"

"She made her decision," Dan says uneasily, and the guilt from his actions settles deeper into his chest. "I'm exhausted. You?"

"If it weren't for the five cups of coffee I wouldn't have been able to make it home," Serena replies sleepily, already curling into his side, using his shoulder as a pillow.

"It'll probably be easier to deal with this after we've had some sleep," Dan suggests.

"The doctors want to keep the baby for at least another two days. Something about observing him to make sure his lungs were properly formed…"

"We've got time," Dan agrees.

Serena is already fast asleep. And Dan breathes out a quiet sigh of relief. He figures that he has at least an hour to two hours before Blair and Chuck arrive in Hudson. He had texted the address as an afterthought, hoping that Blair wouldn't realize that it was _him_ who had sent the text requesting her and Chuck drive up to Hudson. She is cunning, and Dan has to respect that.

It is difficult to pull one over Blair Waldorf.

Dan just hopes that this is the one time he manages to fool Chuck and Blair.

…

"Is that the doorbell?" Serena asks sleepily, attempting to disentangle herself from Dan. The sleep had been welcome, but the ache in her neck is most definitely _not_ welcome. Neither is the incessant barking from Argus, which was only bested by the shrieking of the doorbell. Whoever is at the door is persistent.

"Maybe they'll go away," Dan mutters, still half-asleep, his arm tugging at from her waist as she stands up.

"I'll go see who it is," Serena says with a groan, but Dan is already fast asleep once more, apparently immune to the barking-and-doorbell combination that is currently triggering the worst non-hangover-induced-headache _ever_.

Serena rarely snaps at strangers, but she thinks she will make an exception as she trudges towards the door, not bothering to peek through the peephole before turning the doorknob.

When she sees an impeccably dressed Chuck and Blair, both perfectly coiffed and looking as though _they_ had had a good night's sleep, she really wishes she had the forethought to use the peephole.

"Blair? Chuck?" her voice is scratchy, her hair unruly, and Serena is pretty sure there is a coffee stain on the collar of her—or rather, Dan's—sweater.

"Serena?" Blair echoes in disgust, her eyes raking over her best friend's appearance. "Is _this_ why you asked us to come up here? So we could save you from whatever brainwashing Gothic Barbie and Cabbage Patch have enacted?"

"I didn't ask you to come up here," Serena corrects, shaking her head and attempting to arrange her thoughts. She knows she has been sleep deprived for the better part of a day, but she also knows that nothing would have pushed her to ask _Blair_ to come up to Hudson.

"Yes, you did," Blair huffs in irritation. "And are we going to stand out here all day? It's freezing."

"Come in," Serena mumbles, opening the door wider. But at the sight of Argus, who is watching the two inquisitively, and the mess that is the entryway, Blair immediately steps back, as if the chaos were contagious.

"S, get in the car," Blair instructs, the worry in her voice at an almost alarming level. "Don't worry about your clothes, they're probably all infested with—"

"Blair, I'm not going back to New York with you," Serena interrupts, her confusion heightening. She needs about four more hours of sleep and another three cups of coffee before she can deal with this.

She steps back slightly, knocking over the umbrella holder in the hall. A heavy, wrought iron piece that weighs as heavy as it looks. And makes a sound loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood when it is tipped over.

"Serena?" Dan's voice comes from the neighboring room, and Serena winces as he emerges, running a hand through his hair.

When he spots Chuck and Blair, all the color drains from his face.

"Humphrey," they both snarl in unison.

"Chuck. Blair," Dan acknowledges, resigned.

"I didn't—" Serena begins, but she is cut off by Dan.

"No," he tells them. "I invited them."

What happens next is even worse than tipping over the umbrella holder for Serena. A cacophony of noise erupts around her, and the pounding in her head multiplies almost instantly. Incensed by the noise, Argus begins to bark, his howl adding to the clamor.

"Stop!" Serena blurts, her voice loud enough to be heard above everyone.

Chuck seizes the opportunity to talk, his voice cold. "_You_ dragged us up here, Humphrey?"

"There better have been a good reason behind this," Blair mutters, and the cold is also beginning to affect both Dan and Serena, who are wearing less clothing than Chuck and Blair.

"You guys should sit down," Dan says, swallowing nervously.

Blair, eager to get out of the cold, enters with trepidation, stepping around the various items as though they were highly contagious.

When Dan and Serena lead them to the makeshift living room, Dan motioning to the couch in front of the one he and Serena had been (peacefully, mind you) sleeping on, Blair wrinkles her nose.

"I prefer to stand," she snaps, and Dan frowns, massaging his temples. He understands Blair's irritation—he had just summoned her to the abode of her least favorite person after all.

"Suit yourself," Dan mutters, and Serena shoots him a look.

"I really don't know how to say this," Serena begins uneasily.

"Keep in mind, this wasn't Jenny's fault," Dan interjects quickly, but from Serena's glare, and the way Chuck and Blair tense simultaneously, the former's arm wrapping almost protectively around Blair's tiny waist, he can tell that it is the wrong thing to say.

"_What_ wasn't Jenny's fault?" Blair nearly growls.

Dan and Serena exchange a glance.

Serena's eyes hold blame, but at the same time, her expression is resigned. She knows as well as Dan that this had to happen sooner or later.

It's for the best.

Serena clears her throat, and both Blair and Chuck eye her apprehensively. As if her words have the power to change everything they have worked for in the past few months.

(They do.)

"The pregnancy," Serena whispers.

Blair pretends she cannot hear Serena. The two words are uttered so quietly that it really isn't so much pretence as the truth. Because it wasn't—it _isn't_—possible. Not when they had already resolved that problem. Not when she and Chuck have finally found a place where they can just _be_. Where they are simply together, without the inevitable trouble that seems to follow their every move.

"The what?" Chuck is the first to speak, and his voice, low and dark, matches his expression exactly. His arm tightens around Blair's waist, but she finds herself inexplicably moving away from him—an action she cannot justify.

Dan exchanges another glance with Serena, and clearing his throat, launches into a full, Humphrey-ramble of an explanation.

"When Blair banished Jenny, she came up to Hudson. She didn't know that she was pregnant until about a month and a half later. She didn't start to show till months after—when she started banning my dad and I from seeing her.

It turns out we'd done nothing wrong. Those nights my dad agonized over it…we'd done _nothing_ wrong. Jenny was just protecting us. Protecting herself—"

"Dan," Serena says warningly, cutting off his ramble. "This isn't _anyone's_ fault."

From Dan's expression, both Chuck and Blair are sure that he believes it _is_ Chuck's fault. But in an instant, Dan's expression softens, and his shoulders slump in defeat.

"Serena's right. It's no one's fault," Dan agrees.

Serena smiles at him encouragingly, but both Chuck and Blair wear matching looks of surprise.

Chuck begins to say something, but before he can, he is interrupted by Serena, who turns to them imploringly. "She was going to have the baby, give it away, and forget about it entirely. No one was supposed to know."

"She was going to keep it a secret from Dan?" Blair asks incredulously. Though she had never been too fond of the Humphreys, she knew them well enough to know that Dan and Jenny were the best of siblings. "And Serena—you were never going to tell me?"

Serena bites her lip. "B—"

"No, I understand," Blair says coldly, and although her eyes are steely, there is an undercurrent of desolation in her expression that Serena attributes to her betrayal. "You, my best friend, would rather keep Jenny's secret than tell me."

"I was protecting you," Serena whispers, but Blair simply turns her head, hiding the tears that have sprung up unbidden.

"She wasn't going to tell anyone," he tells Blair, though, surprisingly, there is understanding in his voice—rather than judgment. "Jenny was going to keep this from everyone. She was going to give the baby up for adoption as soon as it was born."

"You were never supposed to know," Serena admits.

"I sent the text," Dan confesses, and the look Blair gives him suggests that she already knew. "Not simply because I thought you both deserved to know, but because this is what's _right_."

Their story concluded, Dan and Serena watch the two opposite them carefully. There is nothing to be found—both are wearing unreadable expressions, and neither is looking at them.

Nor are they looking at each other.

Chuck is the first to speak, clearing his throat awkwardly, attempting to meet Blair's eyes. She is having none of it, her eyes trained on her ruby ring, which spins around her finger, once, twice, thrice…until all Dan can see is a blur of scarlet and gold, spinning furiously around her finger.

"You said _was_," Chuck enunciates slowly, and his words hold a fear not expressed in his eyes. "You said she _was_ going to give the baby up."

The meaning behind his words become clear, and Serena and Dan exchange another glance. They don't know how to properly explain this one—that they (or rather, Dan), had brought Chuck and Blair up to Hudson so Jenny would be convinced that she _could_ keep the baby. It wasn't simply about doing the right thing, though that had certainly been a deciding factor. Jenny already wanted to keep the baby, but the obstacles that stood in her way need to be removed.

One of those obstacles is Chuck and Blair. The other—Jenny herself.

"Excuse me," Blair mumbles, standing abruptly and making her way out of the room. She is halfway towards the door before any of them move—Chuck nearly sprinting to catch up with her. The small size of the home makes it so that he catches up to her nearly instantly, hand wrapping around her elbow.

"Blair," he rasps, and she refuses to look him in the eye. "_Please_."

"Let me go," Blair says slowly, her voice colder than their wintry surroundings. "Let me go, Chuck."

He's always been powerless to stop her.

It doesn't change the fact that watching her walk away is possibly the most painful thing in the world—bullet wounds included.

He is halfway between running after her and allowing her to walk away. God knows he has done both more than he can count. And both yielded usually yielded the same results.

"I'll go after her," Serena offers, shouldering past Chuck with a sympathetic glance thrown his way.

He hates sympathy.

"No."

Serena and Chuck both turn to stare at Dan, whose outburst surprises all three of them.

"I'll go after Blair," Dan volunteers, and he is not sure what he is saying, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them.

Serena looks at him, at a loss for words, and Chuck merely sneers, "Are you delusional, Humphrey?"

"She obviously doesn't want to talk to you, Chuck," Dan says defensively.

"That doesn't mean she'd deign to talk to _you_, Daniel," Chuck retorts.

"No," Dan agrees, knowing that under normal circumstances, this is true. "But she wouldn't want to talk to Serena, either."

"I'm her best friend," Serena argues. "I—"

"You didn't tell her about Jenny," Dan tells her quietly. "And she feels you've betrayed her."

"Since when is Dan Humphrey the expert on all things Blair Waldorf?" Chuck asks contemptuously.

"Just trust me, ok?" Dan turns towards Serena with a pleading look. And from that, she knows that this has to do with Jenny as well.

"Don't," she warns him. "Don't do this Dan. Not now. We can talk to Blair about _that_ later."

"About what?" Chuck narrows his eyes.

"Nothing," Dan says quickly. "But I'm going after Blair. I may not be her favorite person in the world, but something tells me she'll talk to me."

Serena looks at him with an expression halfway between resignation and disagreement, but she steps back, allowing him to pass.

Chuck, on the other hand, is not quite so obliging.

"Chuck," Serena says quietly.

"She won't talk to you," Chuck tells him, turning and stalking in the opposite direction. The way he says it, it is as if he is trying to convince himself more than he is trying to convince Dan.

"We'll see," Dan says quietly, grabbing his coat and leaving the same way Blair had a few minutes prior.

Serena finds herself watching as Dan rounds a corner, footsteps hurried in order to catch up with Blair. Is it jealousy, she wonders, this feeling? That _Dan_ (she may love him, but she knows as well as anyone that Blair's feelings towards Dan lean more towards animosity) would be preferable to her? She had betrayed Blair, yes, but it had been for the best—or what she had thought was the best.

Dan had made the decision to tell Chuck and Blair without consulting her. And though Serena knows that she would have been adamant, refusing to tell either of them because she knew it would _destroy_ them, a small part of her is hurt by Dan's going behind her back. If anything, Dan is the last person she would suspect to betray her.

But as she hears a commotion from down the hall—Chuck, presumably—she tells herself to forget it. Dan had been right—this _is_ the right thing to do. Serena knows she had been the first to encourage Jenny to keep the child. After their conversation, and the ensuing birth, Serena knew better than anyone that Jenny's dearest wish would be to keep her child. To do so, Serena knew, would spell out a disaster. But she had not prepared for the fallout. True to her style, Serena had gone with her instincts, plunging into the situation without truly thinking about the outcome.

She hadn't wanted to tell Chuck and Blair—but she wanted Jenny to keep the baby. The two desires were so at odds with each other that Serena knew Dan had done the right thing.

Now they had to prepare for the fallout.

…

"Blair!"

She _thinks_ she hears her name, but she ignores it. If only because the voice is decidedly familiar.

And not someone she wants to talk to right now.

"Blair!"

Though Blair is somewhat relieved when Dan catches up to her, panting and grabbing onto her elbow to still her movements. The relief comes from the fact that it is not Chuck or Serena. With the former, Blair doesn't know _what_ to say, or what to do. She needs time to herself. Time to think. With Serena, she would have gotten neither—and the fact that she isn't quite sure how she feels towards Serena at the moment isn't helping either. Jerking out of his grasp, Blair takes a step back, wrinkling her nose at the sight of an out-of-breath Dan Humphrey, who collapses on a nearby bench.

"Humphrey," she sneers.

"Where are you going?"

"Home," Blair replies shortly. "Away from this…_place_."

"Chuck's still at my mom's place," Dan tries to reason, but the moment the sentence leaves his mouth, he knows it is the wrong thing to say.

"And he can stay there," Blair says curtly. Turning to leave, Dan finds himself scrambling to his feet.

It is something he has never done. And he can't say that he enjoys running after Blair Waldorf, who walks maddeningly fast even while in heels.

"You're going the wrong way," he tries a different tactic, but it doesn't work.

"Even a place like _this_ must have taxis," Blair replies coolly. "I'll find one eventually."

"So you're going to walk all over Hudson until you find a taxi that'll take you back to the city?" Dan questions, and from the slight hitch in her step, he knows the words have had their desired effect.

"You can't run away from this," Dan continues. Blair whips around at this, eyes blazing. What has incited the reaction is clearly his words, but as to _why_, Dan cannot tell.

"I'm not _running_," Blair says disdainfully. "I merely have no interest in remaining here."

But her movements have stilled, and Dan has his chance. At first, he thinks he is doing this because he wants Blair to somehow convince Jenny that she should keep the baby. It is a twisted situation, he knows, to be relying on Chuck and Blair to do something like that. But Dan also knows that Jenny would never be able to keep the child if Chuck and Blair were kept in the dark—just the same as she would never be able to fully come to terms with giving up the baby.

It's the only way, and Dan has no set plan in mind, only an end goal. But as he advances towards Blair slowly, the disgust on her features more apparent as he hears, he realize that this situation is something he has never imagined. Not in the sense that Chuck and Blair would have to be the ones to convince Jenny to keep her and Chuck's child, although that in itself is surreal. But in the sense that Dan finds himself feeling _sympathy_ for Chuck and Blair.

It is something he had never thought possible.

But as he nears, he notices that Blair's expression of disgust is merely the thinnest of veils, fabricated to hide an array of emotions—despair being the most prominent. He remembers the same look of hopelessness in Chuck's expression when Blair had run out. Neither of them know where to go from here.

Neither of them know what to make of the situation, much less how to handle it. And Dan doesn't blame Blair for wanting to run away, though this surprises him. He doesn't blame Chuck for impregnating Jenny, either. There is no blame to be put on anyone's shoulders. Not when everyone is simply trying to navigate the hellish situation they have found themselves in.

"I don't blame you," Dan says suddenly, now only a few feet from Blair. She catches herself before the expression of surprise can cross her face, but it is clear in her eyes. "I would run too."

"I'm not asking for your approval," Blair says nastily, but her words have lost their edge. In their place is merely defeat. Something quite uncommon with Blair Waldorf.

"I know," Dan says with a shrug. "But running isn't going to solve anything."

"Maybe not," Blair agrees, "but staying here isn't going to solve anything either."

"Maybe it will," Dan argues. Blair laughs, the sound oddly high-pitched and almost vicious.

"And how do you figure that, Dan? Jenny had—they—Chuck—she—" Blair bites her lip, willing herself to say the words that never leave her throat.

"Jenny had Chuck's baby," Dan says for her, and Blair winces at the words, though she had been trying to force them out herself.

"We're not getting past this," Blair tells Dan, looking him straight in the eye. It is as if she is trying to convince herself as much as she is trying to convince Dan. "This is it. The end."

"You don't really believe that," Dan insists. And he can tell by the quaver in her voice, the falter in her speech, that the words are merely an attempt to convince herself.

"This isn't something you can just _forget_," Blair exclaims. "This isn't something we can put in the past. This is a _baby_. It's going to grow up. Become a _child_. Chuck's—Chuck's child. And I…I'll have to look at it and know that that was Chuck's first child."

"_Him_," Dan whispers, and Blair looks at him sharply.

"It's a him," Dan amends meekly.

"Him," Blair grits out. But something in her demeanor changes when he tells her the proper pronoun. Something about her hardens, almost, as if giving the baby a gender made him all the more _real_.

"I'll hate him," Blair murmurs, and it is not vindictive, merely an observation.

"You won't," Dan assures her.

"How can you be so sure?" Blair challenges.

"I just am," Dan says, with a faux-assured air that makes her laugh. _Almost_.

"Just don't…don't leave," Dan requests. "They need you here."

"They?" Blair asks, wrinkling her nose.

"Serena and Chuck," Dan clarifies. "Serena's barely holding on. And Chuck—you know Chuck."

"I do," Blair says shortly. "And what do you want me to do, keep him from running away? I'm not his _keeper_."

"No," Dan says slowly. "You're just the only person he's ever truly loved, that's all."

The gasp catches in her throat, and Dan has to commend himself for catching Blair Waldorf off guard.

* * *

tbc


	23. Chapter 22

**AN: Thanks everyone for the reviews - even if they're just to tell me I'm crazy, ha. Again, I'll repeat prior statements: I have a happy ending in place for Chuck and Blair. But part of this story is them weathering the storm _together_, and learning how to love each other despite the adversity that always seems to find them. I hope you'll enjoy reading the rest of their journey as we near the end of this story. To bethaboo - an immense thank you for beta-ing even while being insanely busy.  
**

**One last thing - I have never, will never, be a DB shipper. CB will always be my first, and only, love, even if I tend to put their relationship through the wringer.**

* * *

It's killing him, Serena knows. The entire situation is eating away at him—and the fact that he is to remain stationary while Dan chases after Blair _cannot_ bode well with Chuck.

Not to mention, he is on a constant rotation between pacing back and forth, checking his Blackberry, sitting and tapping his foot, and peeking out the lace-trimmed windows.

"They'll be back soon," Serena says into the silence, if only to fill the empty space with words. But she winces once the words leave her mouth. Silence would have been preferable to Chuck's expression.

"What possessed us to allow _Humphrey_ to go after Blair?" Chuck asks, clearly agitated.

"He made a good point," Serena says with a sigh, though she had agreed with Chuck at first. "Blair would be more willing to—"

"And he knows that how? Blair hates Dan."

"As of right now, she probably hates us more," Serena says quietly, eyes trained on the floor.

Chuck freezes mid-stride, and Serena looks up at him, curious as to why his pacing had stopped.

"You're probably right," he admits.

"We shouldn't have sprung it on you guys," Serena apologizes. "This isn't how I wanted her to find out—"

"You mean you didn't want her to find out," Chuck corrects.

"No! Well, yes, but I—I didn't know what I wanted." Serena trips over her words in a way that suggests she _still _doesn't know what she wants.

"None of us ever thought we'd be in this situation," Chuck agrees with a sigh, resuming his pacing.

"What do you…how are you—" Serena stumbles over her words, but cannot seem to find the right ones to say.

"I don't know," Chuck says stoically. "I don't know what to feel."

He completes the circuit—pacing, Blackberry, tapping, peeking—twice more before he spots Dan and Blair making their way across the street.

They are at the door within seconds.

Blair re-enters with a stony expression, slightly taken aback at the sight of Serena and Chuck waiting for them at the entrance. The walk back had been a quiet one, to say in the least. Dan had not attempted conversation, and this boded well for Blair, who had needed time to mull over the situation.

Unfortunately, the only conclusion she had reached was that Hudson was in dire need of taxis—her feet were absolutely _killing_ her.

"B," Serena starts, coming forward cautiously. "Blair, I wanted to tell you, but—"

"You were protecting me," Blair says automatically, repeating Serena's words from earlier. "I get it."

"You do?" Serena questions, relieved and surprised at the same time.

"You know I would have found out eventually," Blair says matter-of-factly, "but you didn't want to ruin my happiness. I get it."

"You're not mad?" Serena prods, and Blair shakes her head slowly.

"No. I just want to figure this out. Get it over with so I can go home."

She looks directly over Serena's shoulder at this, and she meets Chuck's gaze.

"And then I'll be done."

Whether she means done with the situation, or her relationship with Chuck, no one knows. But the way she meets his gaze straight-on, it unnerves him.

Serena shoots Dan a questioning gaze as Blair walks past them, leading the way to the living room.

Dan merely shrugs, not quite sure how between their talk and their return Blair had come to be this calm. But this _is_ Blair, he remembers. This is Blair working through the situation and hiding her feelings. This is Blair Waldorf covering up the pain and hoping it'll all be over soon.

"If you're all going to continue standing by the door, I'd appreciate it if you closed it. It's getting cold." Blair's voice snaps them to attention, and they re-enter the living room as well, finding Blair sitting on a chair opposite the one she had before. A chair that only sits one.

Leaving Serena and Dan to take the couch, and Chuck to sit by himself.

"You said Jenny was intending to give up the baby?" Blair asks Dan, moments after he sits down. Her voice is curt, businesslike and to the point.

"She…was," Dan agrees.

"She's not anymore?"

"We're not sure," Serena answers for him. "Jenny doesn't want to give up the baby, you see—"

Blair narrows her eyes. "And what changed her mind, exactly?"

"Well," Serena ducks her head slightly, as if to avoid any projectiles that could be coming her way. "It wasn't that I convinced her, exactly. But I was talking to her, and the way she talked about the baby…she's trying to convince herself that it's the right thing to give it up. But she can't. Dan and I have both seen it."

"She wants to keep him," Dan adds. "But she knows that's not exactly…possible."

They all know exactly _why_ it is not possible.

"Chuck?" Blair turns to Chuck slightly, though she does not meet his eyes. They are all stunned by this, and Chuck doesn't answer at first, merely looking at Blair in surprise.

"You're the…father," Blair says grudgingly. "You have a say too."

"Blair—" he tries, but his voice is hoarse.

"Do you want Jenny to keep the baby?" Blair asks impatiently, and her voice goes up in pitch.

"I—" he falters, and Blair stiffens.

"Answer the question, Chuck."

There is a long pause before Chuck answers.

"I don't know," he says honestly, and Blair allows the tiniest bit of emotion—a frown—to show.

"You should probably figure that out," Blair replies coolly. Then, turning to Dan, "Is there a hotel in this place? I assume we're not staying in _this_."

"We have a room booked a few minutes from here," Serena replies. "I could take you two there, if you'd like."

"I won't be here any longer than I need to," Blair says, getting up and walking in the direction of the front door.

Serena and Chuck take it as their cue to follow her, Serena shooting Dan an apologetic smile.

…

Blair fumes as she stomps down the hallway, cursing the hotel for lack of proper management. As luck would have it, the entire hotel is completely booked. A hotel ironically named the St. Charles Hotel. Some convention or other in town has made the otherwise lackluster hotel busier than usual. The only solution had been for Chuck and Blair to get a room together—something that brought relief to Chuck's expression and fury to Blair's.

Chuck doesn't mention to Serena or Blair that he had called ahead with a sizeable bribe to ensure that he and Blair would have to stay together. It is not entirely a lie, as there _is_ a convention, but there are also other rooms available, though they were less in number.

It is his only way to talk to her.

"Why is there only one bed?" Blair nearly screeches, upon entering the room.

Now this, Chuck did _not_ plan.

"You didn't seem so keen on sleeping apart last night," Chuck retorts with a smirk.

"Well then, I hope you enjoy sleeping on the floor," Blair says venomously, a tone at odds with her saccharine smile.

"I'll be back in a few hours," Serena promises. "Please don't kill each other," she pleads.

The door bangs behind her, and Serena lets out a sigh of relief. Though she knows that leaving them alone is quite possibly the worst idea at this moment, she also knows that this will give them an opportunity to _talk_.

Then again, Chuck and Blair have never been too inclined to just talking.

…

"I was serious," Blair says, as soon as Serena exits the room. "You're sleeping on the floor."

"Blair," Chuck says in disbelief. "The carpet is _green_. And is probably host to…insects."

"Bed bugs live in _beds_, Chuck," Blair retorts with a frown, glancing at the floral bedspread in apprehension.

"No, they don't," Chuck counters. "They live in carpets too."

"I suppose _you_ would be familiar with—" Blair pauses to shudder lightly "—_bed bugs_. Given your history."

The argument turns more serious than Chuck had anticipated, though by now, he knows he should have been expecting this.

"Blair—" he tries, his voice uncharacteristically soft. She senses the earnestness in his voice—and in all honesty, it frightens her. If only because she knows that this is not something they can move past. And if she listens to him, if she _gives in to him_, she will be condemned to a life with someone whose first child was with _Jenny Humphrey_.

"You know what?" Blair snaps her bag closed, slinging it over her shoulder. "I've decided I'll be staying in another hotel. I'm _sure_ this stupid town has more than one hotel."

"You don't need—" Chuck falters, because he realizes a flaw in his plan. Calling up the rest of the hotels and bribing them to tell Blair they were full is not only impossible in the short amount of time he would have, but would make Blair suspicious. "I'll sleep on the floor," he assures her, though the thought makes him shudder.

"I don't want to be in the same _city_ as you," Blair spits out. "Let alone the same room."

She walks out of the room with her head held high. He doesn't stop her.

But as soon as the click of her heels is no longer audible, his phone is out, and he is dialing numbers.

He doesn't care how much money it takes, he will buy out every hotel of every available room they have.

Chuck just hopes he gets to them all before Blair does.

…

"You Basstard," Blair seethes, upon entering the room. Serena trails behind her, looking weary and exchanging a worried look with an equally tired Dan.

"What did he do now?" Dan jokes, in an attempt to lighten the mood. As usual, Dan's instincts are completely off.

"He called up _all_ the hotels—even the _motel_s—in the vicinity of this place. _And booked them solid._ For the next two weeks," Blair rages.

Chuck smirks. Apparently he _had_ been successful.

"The motels weren't really necessary, but I wanted to cover—" he begins triumphantly, only to be cut off by Blair's glower.

"Wow," Dan cuts in, and the sentiment is clearly echoed by Serena. "_All_ of them?"

"Every one of them," Blair snaps.

"You can stay with Chuck one night," Serena implores, looking at Blair pleadingly, "can't you? It's only one night."

Blair narrows her eyes, but says nothing, tossing her hair and crossing her arms petulantly.

"I'll take that as a no," Dan murmurs, and he is the next to be dealt a scowl from Blair.

"I'm leaving as soon as we get this over with," Blair declares. "I won't need a room."

"But what if—" Dan begins to argue, but he is cut off by a warning look from Serena.

"No, Humphrey. I'm leaving _tonight_."

"Then we better get going," Dan says reluctantly. "The hospital will let us visit until eight-thirty."

As if the magnitude of their impending visit to the hospital finally hits Blair, her expression hardens, her shoulders become rigid, and her eyes turn to steel.

"Let's go," she says flatly, her voice hard as flint.

Dan and Serena exchange worried looks before following Blair out the door.

There is no way this will end well.

…

They are silent the entire way there. No one speaks a word, and everyone is careful to avoid each other's gaze. Blair is staring determinedly out one window, while Chuck stares out the other. Serena, between them, simply closes her eyes and prays to a god she doesn't fully believe in.

"We're here." Dan's voice cracks slightly from disuse, and Blair shoots him a black look, clearly irritated that he had pointed out the obvious.

"I guess we'll—" Serena indicates Dan and herself "—go in first. And then maybe…"

"We'll see what happens," Dan finishes.

Blair nods, her movements mechanical as she makes her way to a plastic chair, plopping down with a grace only Blair Waldorf can commandeer.

Chuck sits beside her, and akin to a game they used to play in middle school, Blair scrunches up her nose and moves two seats down.

Chuck moves next to her.

The game continues as Dan and Serena watch, from a ways away, in fascination.

It ends as it had in middle school. Blair finds herself trapped in a corner, her only option to start at the beginning again.

Instead, she crosses her arms and glares at Serena, hoping it will provoke the blonde and Humphrey to _go already_.

It does the trick and Blair sighs quietly, leaning back in her chair as a knot forms in her stomach.

And now they wait.

…

"Hi Dan," Jenny says in surprise. "Serena. I thought you guys weren't coming back till tomorrow? I'm fine, you know. You guys need slee—"

"Jenny," Serena says in a rush. "You don't want to give up this baby."

Jenny's words stop, and her eyes narrow at Serena. "We've been over this," she says stiffly. "I'm. Giving. This. Baby. Up. There's no other way."

"There _is_," Serena breathes. And though she herself cannot believe what she is to say next, she says it anyways. "There is a way for this all to work out."

Dan steps in next, looking at his sister imploringly. "Just listen to us, Jen. We're trying to help you."

Jenny shakes her head adamantly, blonde hair flying about as tears spring to her eyes. "Stop it, both of you. Stop. I am giving this baby up and there is _nothing_ you can do or say to make me change my mind. It's too complicated as it is. If I keep him, Gossip Girl will eventually find out. You said so yourself. If Chuck and Blair found out, it would _destroy_ them. Which, ultimately, would mean I am destroyed."

"Blair's not completely malicious," Serena argues, quick to defend her best friend. "She's spiteful, yes, but she would never tell you to give up your child. This is different. This is a _baby_ we're talking about. A life. Not a crown, or a coveted seat on the steps. This is—"

Serena's tirade is interrupted by a frazzled nurse, whose face is red and looks near tears. Cradled in her arms is the baby Serena has grown to recognize is Jenny's.

"He won't stop crying," the nurse cries in frustration. Brand new to the maternity ward, she had not been properly prepared for such ear-splitting cries.

"Shhh," Jenny soothes, holding out her thin arms. The nurse places the baby gingerly into her arms, and Jenny's posture relaxes into the pillows behind her. Her expression changes as well, softening into a smile as she pacifies her child.

And it is in this moment that Serena and Dan know that no matter the consequences, this is the right thing to do. Jenny may have been young. Far too young to have a child, let alone _raise _one. But there is something about her, when she is with her child. Something that changes her; almost effaces all the terrible things she has done.

"Chuck and Blair are here," Serena says quietly, knowing that this is as good a time as any. Jenny's slow rocking freezes, and her wide blue eyes meet Dan's.

"Dan?" she croaks out, and as if he can sense her anxiety, the baby in her arms begins wailing almost immediately.

Dan nods, swallowing the lump in his throat as Jenny returns to caring for her child.

"They know," Serena continues slowly, and Jenny closes her eyes, as if she were wishing this were all a dream, and she were to wake up soon.

"Who told them?" She finally asks, voice deadened by ire.

Serena bites her lip, looking at Dan. She should take the fall for this, she decides. It _had_ been Dan's decision alone to bring Chuck and Blair into this. But Dan is also Jenny's brother. And she will need him, betrayal or not.

"I—"

"Me," Dan interrupts. "I brought them up here. We told them together."

Jenny's fists clench, and she is quickly losing control of her carefully arranged expression.

"Why are they _here_?" she asks, curiosity creeping through her voice.

"We…well, we thought Blair would be able to convince you to keep the baby," Dan admits, and said aloud, he has to concede that the notion itself is ridiculous.

Jenny laughs hollowly. "She's not going to."

"You're wrong," Serena jumps in fiercely. "She's out there right now. In the waiting room."

"Please," Jenny's voice turns pleading when she learns of Blair's proximity. "Please, Serena. I don't want to keep this baby—" but as she says so, her arms tighten inexplicably around her child "—this isn't going to help. You're making things worse."

"No," Dan tells Jenny, his voice firm. "This is for the best, Jen."

Jenny shakes her head. "It's not. You guys don't know—"

"Trust us," Serena tells her, and her and Dan exchange a quick glance, affirming what Jenny suspects.

"Dan, don't," Jenny implores, as Dan turns towards the door. "Dan, please. Please, I've got to explain first that I—"

"I'm doing this for you," Dan informs her sadly, turning the doorknob.

…

"You didn't leave," Chuck is the first to speak, and Blair scoffs lightly at his words.

"Obviously. If you haven't noticed, running is _your_ forte. I'm here because apparently I'm responsible for you," Blair says coolly.

"I'm not running," Chuck points out, but at Blair's expression, knows that this is the wrong thing to say.

"Because when it comes to this—when it comes to _Jenny_, you'll stay, of course," Blair spits out. "I suppose she's just that special?"

"No," Chuck insists. "I'm not staying for her."

"Then for the baby," Blair retorts, although her words have lost their edge. It is difficult to bring a child, an innocent child no matter how _un _-innocent its mother may have been, into an argument. "Who knew you were so fatherly?"

"I'm not running," Chuck says quietly. "Because forgetting and living in denial doesn't work. You showed me that."

Blair's expression softens slightly, and Chuck mentally congratulates himself for breaking down a wall, if only barely.

"Glad to know _Jenny Humphrey_ is reaping the benefits of my labor." Blair rolls her eyes.

"If it were you in there—" Chuck begins, but he is cut off by Blair, whose expression is particularly fearsome.

"It _wouldn't_ be me in there because I refuse to allow myself to become pregnant, least of all by _you_," Blair interrupts. "Don't compare me to Jenny Humphrey."

"Blair," Chuck pleads slightly. "Blair, I'm _trying_."

He is near begging now. Begging her to stay. Begging her to understand, to forgive him. Begging her to stay _with him_. Because Chuck knows that if Blair hadn't been there that afternoon, he would have bolted at the soonest possible moment. Would have called his pilot and told him to prepare to fly to Munich, or Ibiza, or Seychelles.

"Whatever it takes to fix this," he vows.

"Don't," Blair tells him, her voice firm. "You have a _child_, Chuck. A _baby_. With Jenny Humphrey, of all people. Don't tell me you can fix this. You can't."

"He won't be my child in anything but name," Chuck promises her. "You know the only children I want are with you—"

"A _baby_," Blair repeats gravely. "This isn't something that goes away, Chuck. He's going to grow up. He's going to become a person. _He's_ going to be a part of your life."

"Not if—"

"You wouldn't," Blair says fiercely, and why she is defending this, she doesn't know exactly. "You wouldn't just leave this child with only one parent. Not when you know firsthand what that's like."

Chuck looks surprised, but recollects himself quickly. "There would be child support, of course—"

"_Chuck_," Blair emphasizes, and from his expression, she knows she is right. Chuck may not have wanted this child at all, but he is not going to abandon it, whether the mother is Jenny Humphrey or not.

Chuck sighs slowly. "We don't have to convince Jenny to keep the baby. She can just go ahead with her original plan."

As tempting as it sounds, Blair knows that it is not the right solution. It is not the way to fix things, and though she doesn't believe she has ever hated Jenny Humphrey more, she cannot summon any detestation for the baby—who is the only innocent in the entire mess.

"You know we can't, Chuck. We're here to convince Jenny to keep the baby, no matter how ridiculous that sounds. As soon as that's done, I'm leaving."

"You're giving up," Chuck realizes, and there is something that sounds a lot like blame in his voice. "Just like that?"

Blair laughs hollowly. "I guess I am."

"What happened to trusting me?" Chuck asks, verging on desperate. "Or us being inevitable? I told you I wasn't going to let anything stand in the way of you becoming Blair Bass. I meant that."

Blair finds herself slightly taken aback by his speech, but she recovers quickly, blinking away any moisture that has collected in her eyes.

"I know," she begins slowly. "I meant it too, when I said I trusted you."

"But you don't trust me now?" Chuck asks, his voice accusatory.

Blair shakes her head. "I trust you, Chuck. I just don't think you can fix this."

"Nothing is unfixable," he tells her.

"You're wrong," Blair whispers. "You can try, Chuck, but you can't fix this."

"But this is us, Blair. We've never been _normal_. We've never been ideal. We can get past this."

"I just—" Blair falters slightly, and Chuck seizes the moment to take tilt her chin up, meeting her eyes pleadingly.

"But I love you."

"No," Blair says, shaking her head and removing her chin from his grasp. "No, Chuck."

She is pulling away from him, and in a moment of sheer panic, Chuck grapples onto the last hope he has left. Because he's not going to let her get away from him. Not this time. Not when he has a diamond sitting in the second drawer from the bottom. Not when they've come this far—scheming together and finding a place where their reconciliation is truly a reconciliation, not a mere stand-in.

They've come too far to let it all go now.

"Trust me, Blair," Chuck requests. "Trust me. It's not my baby."

"Chuck—" Blair says tiredly.

"We used…" he falters for a second, memories flooding his brain. Unwelcome memories that are reflected in Blair's own brown eyes. She winces, and he does too. "We used protection," he finishes quickly.

"They're not a hundred percent," Blair reminds him.

"It's not mine," Chuck tells her, but Blair shakes her head. She is not going to allow herself to hold onto false hope. Not when it is completely unlikely, and definitely more likely to break her further.

But before Chuck can plead his case, Dan comes around the corner, and Blair propels herself away from him, wiping at a stray tear quickly. She is not going to let Dan Humphrey, of all people, see her _weak_.

"Serena thinks you should go in first," Dan addresses Blair awkwardly, not meeting her red eyes. "The room's around the corner, down the hallway, and make a right, first one of the left—"

Blair is out of her seat and marching determinedly down the hallway before Dan can say anything.

"Serena was worried you two and Jenny in the same room wouldn't bode too well," Dan says by way of an explanation. Chuck merely glares at him, irritated that Dan had interrupted their conversation. If he had just a few more minutes, perhaps Blair would have—

"Are you okay?" Dan asks uncomfortably, and he is met with another glare from Chuck.

"I'm fine, Humphrey, considering I've got an illegitimate child and Blair is—"

"Blair loves you," Dan interrupts, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. It is not a situation he fancies himself in, especially because this is Chuck Bass, someone he has sworn to hate prior.

"That may not be enough," Chuck says darkly.

"Maybe not now," Dan shrugs, unsure as to what he is getting at. "But you two have the most sordid, complicated, and utterly incomprehensible relationship around. If anyone is going to get past this, it's going to be you two."

Chuck looks at him in a mixture of disbelief and amusement, and he opens his mouth to say something.

Before he can, they are interrupted by the sound of heels clicking across the linoleum floor.

Blair Waldorf runs past them, and she is almost to the doors before either of them fully understands what is going on.

"Blair!" Chuck calls after her, and he too is running. Serena rounds the corner next, running towards Dan.

"What happened?" Dan asks, bewildered.

"I didn't realize Blair was outside the room," Serena pants, nearly out of breath. "I guess she was out there for a while, because when I opened the door to see if she was around, she took one look inside, and she saw—"

"She saw Jenny," Dan guesses. "And the baby."

Serena nods in confirmation. "And she bolted."

They turn to the doors, which are completely free of both Chuck and Blair. And Dan, in a strange twist, hopes that Chuck has caught up to Blair.

…

"Blair!"

"I can't," she gasps. "I can't, Chuck, I can't."

He catches up to her easily, wrapping his arms around her as she struggles against him, raking her fingernails across his skin in an attempt to free herself.

He doesn't let go.

"I can't," she repeats, over and over until all the fight leaves her completely.

Chuck doesn't know what to do, doesn't know what to say. So he simply holds her until she quiets, leaning into him. It is somewhat of a relief that she is no longer pushing him away.

"She was just sitting _there_," Blair says quietly, her voice muffled. "In the bed. I didn't even see the baby, just a bundle of blankets. And when she looked at me, and I realized that this is all _real_, that none of this is just a horrid nightmare, I just…couldn't."

"It's going to be—" he attempts comfort, but Blair interrupts him.

"It's not, Chuck. It's not going to be okay," she says quietly, stepping out from his embrace.

"I can't do this. I thought I could stand by and be _alright_ with this, but I'm not. I can't," she repeats for the last time.

Conveniently enough for her, there is a cab idling a short way down the street. Blair spots it almost immediately, making her way towards it swiftly.

"Blair, please," Chuck tries. He needs her to stay, even if she is not with him. He doesn't know _how_ to properly function without her around. He can't do this alone, but expecting her to stay with him through this is selfish.

He's always been selfish.

"Blair!" He calls, louder now that her pace has quickened. When his calls go unheeded, he follows her, running as quickly as he possibly can.

"Blair," he gasps, catching up to her.

She turns around, expression carefully arranged so as to not betray an ounce of emotion. She is shutting him out, and ultimately, this is what frightens him.

"I'll see you in New York."

And she turns on her heel, leaving him behind.

* * *

tbc


	24. Chapter 23

**AN: I hope this answers a few of your questions. To everyone who hasn't abandoned this story - thank you, thank you, thank you. To bethaboo - you're the best beta a girl could have.**

**One last thing - I don't mind at all if you stop reading, (though I do hope you'll come back eventually) because that's your decision. I do not, however, appreciate personal attacks that have little relevance to the actual story. _Thank you_.  
**

* * *

"Where is she?" Serena is almost afraid to ask, given Chuck's expression.

"In a cab," he answers flatly. Turning to Dan, whose expression matches Serena's anxious one, "I'm going after her."

"Chuck, are you sure that's a good idea?" Serena asks gingerly. "She needs space."

There is a pause, wherein Chuck is warring with himself, as if attempting to reword his next statement.

"I need _her_," he says, and it is so quiet neither Serena nor Dan are sure if Chuck Bass has actually uttered those words.

"Give her a day," Serena suggests quietly. "Jenny can wait. You can talk to her tomorrow, if you're still—"

"That's why we came up here, right?" Chuck asks with a hollow laugh. "I'm not talking to Jenny. I'm going back to New York."

"Just give her a day." Serena all but begs, interrupting Dan's protest. "You can go back tomorrow."

"And what am I supposed to do in the interim?" Chuck sneers.

"Just give her a day," Serena says firmly, shooting a warning look at Dan. She doesn't know how, but she will find some way to convince Chuck to talk to Jenny. It is an impossible undertaking, for sure, but Serena thinks that she has a plan.

The only problem is, it involves Blair.

"One day," Chuck growls, before stalking off.

…

"Hey B," Serena says quietly, exchanging an apprehensive glance with Dan. She had waited until night fell to contact Blair. She figured she owed Blair a few hours at the very least.

Serena knows full well she owes Blair more than a few hours, but it is all the time they have to spare.

"How are you?" she asks delicately.

"Fine," Blair replies shortly. "I'm exhausted, Serena. I spent an hour in a _cab_ before I could arrange for proper car service. What do you want?"

"Jenny—"

"You need me to convince Chuck to talk to Jenny," Blair deadpans. As usual, Blair has a talent for understanding even without the entire sentence.

"Well…yes," Serena says. "But you don't have to do it, B. You don't have to have any further associations with this…not if you don't want to."

"You called me," Blair says humorlessly, "which means you're out of options."

"If anyone could convince Chuck, it would be you," Serena replies sadly. "I wouldn't have, if we weren't desperate—"

Blair laughs then, a cold, hollow laugh that frightens Serena.

"It's ironic. That _I_ would be the one to convince Chuck to talk to Jenny about keeping her baby."

"I know," Serena sympathizes. "And I'm awful for asking. I know, B. I'm so sorry—"

"It's fine," Blair says with a sigh. "I had to spend that time in the taxi doing _something_. I don't—I don't want anything to do with this. After this, I'm done. Completely. But you're right. I need to convince Chuck. Not for Jenny. Not for Chuck. For…the baby."

Serena nods emphatically, but upon realizing that Blair cannot see her, "B, you're—"

"The most thoughtful person around," Blair finishes her sentence, though her humor is dry. "I know, S."

"Thank you," Serena tells her. "From me, Dan…and Jenny."

"I'm not doing this for her," Blair reminds her. "I'm doing this for that poor unfortunate child who has a Humphrey for a mother and a Bass for a father."

"He doesn't stand a chance," Serena jokes, and though she cannot see Blair, she hopes that she has brought a smile to her best friend's lips.

"I'll talk to Chuck," Blair promises. "But after that, I'm done."

"Alright," Serena agrees. "I'll be in New York soon. I'll see you when I'm home?"

"I'll be here," Blair says grudgingly, as though she wishes she were somewhere else instead.

Given the situation, she probably does.

…

At three in the morning, Chuck, who has unsuccessfully been trying to sleep for the past three hours, nearly pokes his eye out when his phone rings.

Massaging his forehead, he grabs his phone, half-hoping to see— _BLAIR_ flashes on his screen, and he wonders if he had fallen asleep two hours ago.

He picks up anyways. Dream Blair is better than no Blair at all, he supposes.

"Blair?"

"Serena told me to call you." Her words are clipped, and he has no doubt that this is all Serena's doing.

"Remind me to buy her flowers," he remarks, and the scoff on the other end is a welcome noise. If only because it means she's not _entirely_ indifferent to him.

"It's late, and I want to go to bed," Blair says. "So we'll just get this—"

"You could have called me hours ago," Chuck points out, though he knows getting into an argument with her at this point is unwise. When it comes to Blair, all bets are off.

"I—" Blair falters, and he wonders if she _has_ been trying to call him. If her finger has been hovering over the _Call_ button, his name on the screen of her phone as she wrestled with herself. "I could have," she finishes lamely. And it is at that moment that Chuck _knows_ that is exactly what happened.

"But it doesn't matter." She recovers quickly, not allowing him to get a single word in. "You have to talk to Jenny and convince her to keep the baby."

"But—"

"You know it's the right thing to do, Chuck," she pleads, but he can tell her heart isn't in it.

"It's not if it means losing you," he tells her quietly.

"You've already lost me," Blair replies frostily. "I told you, I was done."

"Because you didn't think we could get past this," Chuck points out. "But if Jenny gives away this baby, we'll have a chance—"

"No, Chuck. Because even if she gives it away, I'll _know_ he's out there. And what if ten years from now, he decides to find out who his birth parents are? You know this would never work, Chuck."

"You can't be giving up on us so easily," he says in surprise, but the resolve in her voice tells him she _is_.

"I'm not," Blair says adamantly. "But our fate was sealed the moment that baby was born. Whether Jenny keeps it or not makes no difference."

"She doesn't want—"

"She _does_," Blair insists, and she has to wonder, once again, why she is pleading Jenny Humphrey's case for her. _The baby_, she tells herself, picturing the little bundle of blankets once more. "You heard what Serena said."

"Serena's been wrong before," Chuck argues. "Besides, the baby would be better off with other parents. With Jenny and I—" Chuck winces at this, and he knows Blair does too "—well, the kid wouldn't stand a chance."

"I don't know what happens next," Blair admits. "But I do know that if Jenny gives up this baby, she will be making a mistake."

There is a long pause, and Chuck weighs his options carefully. If he continues to disagree, Blair will stay on the line longer. It is verging on pathetic, he knows, but he will take whatever she gives him.

"I'll talk to Jenny." Chuck finally acquiesces. "But—"

"No," Blair says almost immediately.

"I have only one concession," Chuck continues, as if he hadn't heard her. "And it involves you."

"No, Chuck," Blair says, and all the coolness has gone from her voice. In its place, weary defeat.

"I'm not asking you to…be with me," he says slowly, choosing his words carefully. "I'm asking you to consider it."

"I've made my decision," Blair tells him. "You know this."

"But we've never been ideal," Chuck reminds her. "And you know as well as I do that we're inevitable. You said so yourself—"

"This is it, Chuck," Blair tells him sadly.

"I lo—"

"Goodbye," she says with finality.

The click rings in his ears long after she has hung up. His phone remains glued to his ear, as if she were to call back at any time now.

Two hours later, Chuck gives up on sleep.

…

"Miss Blair!"

Blair groans inwardly as Dorota marches in, for the second time that day, no less. Hoping Dorota will leave, Blair curls deeper into her bed—a bed she should not be occupying at one in the afternoon.

"Miss Blair, you have a visitor."

Dorota, having no knowledge of what had transpired the past few days, had arrived to the Waldorf Penthouse that morning expecting another quiet day. With Blair spending most of her time at the Empire, her days had been at her leisure—most of them being spent with her husband and child. That being said, the Polish maid had been quite shocked to find Blair in her bed that morning (and more than a little relieved that she was alone).

"Dorota," she had acknowledged, and Dorota's first worry had been that Miss Blair had caught a cold—nothing else explained her remaining in bed for such an extended period of time.

But there was nothing in her voice that suggested as much, and her bedside table was conspicuously free of the mountain of tissues that normally occupy the space whenever Blair is afflicted with the flu. Thus, Dorota had concluded that Blair's current bout of woe had to do with Mister Chuck.

And she knew well enough not to push the subject.

"There is no one I wish to see," Blair replies coldly. "I told you already, Dorota. No visitors today."

"But it is not Miss Serena, or Mister Chuck," Dorota explains.

"Then who?" Blair asks, irritated.

"Brigitte _Desmarais_," Dorota says, her accent heavy on the French name. Nevertheless, it has its desired effect on Blair.

"_Desmarais_?" she hisses.

Dorota nods. "She's downstairs now, waiting for you."

"Tell her I'll be down in a few minutes," Blair says quickly, already halfway out of bed. It is the most Dorota has seen her move all morning.

Whether it is irritation—she thought she was completely done with the Desmaraises—or curiosity that propels her to don a simple pale lilac shift and brush her hair, Blair isn't sure.

…

"Let's just get this over with," Chuck mutters under his breath, and Serena looks at him worriedly. The three cups of coffee he had gulped down moments prior are doing nothing to detract from his desolate behavior, and even less to reduce the clear signs of a sleepless night from his face.

"We could wait—"

"I'm going back to New York in an hour," Chuck tells her. "A car will be coming by the hospital to pick me up. You're welcome to join, but Humphrey—"

"I'll stay here," Serena says quickly, not wanting to leave Dan behind in this mess of a situation.

Chuck is about to say something, but he catches himself quickly, clenching his jaw.

"What?" Serena asks, exasperation creeping into her voice.

"You may love Humphrey," a look of distaste crosses his features at this thought, "but Blair's your best friend. She needs you too."

By now, they have reached the door to Jenny's room, and Chuck turns to her with an ultimatum.

"I won't be talking to Jenny unless you return to New York with me," he tells her.

Serena nods in defeat, but a part of her is glad to be going home.

…

Blair's cautious descent down the marble steps is punctuated by the quiet clicking of the heels she had thought to put on before heading downstairs.

The woman seated on her mother's couch is the epitome of French elegance—light brown hair tucked into a twist, a black wrap dress accenting her small waist, and a pale green Kelly by her Lanvin clad feet.

"Miss Waldorf?" she says pleasantly, extending a hand towards Blair. Her left hand, Blair notes, is bare.

"Blair," she says with a polite smile, the reaction automatic thanks to years of Eleanor's instruction.

"I'm Brigette Des—" the woman laughs lightly, "—forgive me, Brigette _Lisle_. I have been a Desmarais for far too long."

Blair smiles tightly, noting that the woman's accented English is far from vexed. If anything, Brigette sounds completely contented.

"Forgive me, I know I must be intruding—I hadn't the forethought to call ahead. It's been a…hectic few days."

"I can imagine," Blair says with a smile, although there is a growing knot of anticipation in her stomach. She attributes this to the fact that this is the woman whom Zacharie had cheated on—the same woman who is now divorcing her husband, thanks to Blair…and Chuck.

"Léon told me about you," Brigette says by way of an explanation. "I wanted to meet you, in person to…thank you."

"Thank me?" Blair repeats faintly, and Brigette smiles fondly.

"You were responsible for the dissolution of my marriage after all," she says lightly, and Blair cringes at the words. She knows that being responsible for breaking up a marriage is nothing to be proud of. It is nothing she has wanted to be able to claim to have done.

"Though I wouldn't recommend doing this for someone else," Brigette continues with a trilling laugh. "I can imagine you'd make some enemies that way. Or is that how things are done in New York?"

The latter part of the sentence is said curiously, rather than with a disparaging tone. But Blair is quick to smile and shake her head, assuring Brigette that _no_, she did not go around breaking up marriages.

"I didn't feel it was right," Blair explains. "That Zacharie could go around, cheating on you with no repercussions whatsoever. He hid it well, aside from that one situation…" she trails off, unsure as to what extent Brigette's knowledge of the situation is.

"Oh, I knew about them," Brigette says, a look of indignation crossing her pretty features. "Some were even flaunted in my face, if you'll believe that."

"I—"

"Oh, don't bother with the flatteries," Brigette says with a smile and a wave of her hand. "I know my worth, and I know that my husband was a bastard."

"Then why did you stay with him all those years?" Blair blurts out, although she believes she knows the answer already.

Brigette sighs sadly, playing with the delicate gold bracelet on her wrist. "I stayed with him out of selfishness. I was a selfish fool," she laughs self-deprecatingly. "I'm sure you know by now that the Desmaraises are a powerful family in France. With quite a fortune to boot."

Blair nods, knowing that she cannot pass judgment because this is the life of so many other women she knows. Even in New York, where lineage is not nearly as highly prized as it is in Paris, or London, there is a certain prestige to being a part of the upper echelons of society, and even within that, being old money. The Basses, she knows, may have bought their way into their status, but without a name that dated back to those who traveled here on the _Mayflower_, they were never truly accepted.

"I was lucky to be married to Zacharie," Brigette continues. "Everyone commented on my so-called luck. I was to be one of the most respected women in Paris. One of the wealthiest, too, although we don't hold that in as much esteem. My parents thought of my marriage as my proudest accomplishment."

"I did go to school, of course. But I never did anything consequential with my time there. It was meant to be another asset of mine when it came to marriage. I never expected it to turn into anything."

Blair listens to this woman's tale intently, and although she has met her all but ten minutes ago, finds herself intrigued by her story.

"And I was completely at ease with that. I wanted a rich, powerful husband, three children—two girls and a boy—a lovely home in Paris, and a summer home in the Riviera."

Blair leans forward, chin on her hands as Brigette continues to spin her tale. A tale frighteningly similar to the one she had imagined for herself, not so long ago.

"—but then," Brigette's voice turns even more nostalgic, and the smile she wears is genuine.

"Then?" Blair prompts.

"Then I met Christian," Brigette admits, blushing slightly. And Blair looks at this woman, a woman who she has never met in her life, and she feels as though she _knows_ this woman. The way Brigette says Christian's name, the way it falls from her lips with a quiet, wistful sigh, and the way her expression turns slightly longing. It is both familiar and foreign to her.

Brigette's blush deepens, and she looks apologetically at Blair, shaking off every ounce of yearning that hangs about her expression.

"Forgive me. I've only just met you, and I'm prattling on about my life story. But the short of it was that Christian was never appropriate for me in my parents' eyes. Nouveau riche and with a reputation for debauchery, my mother had all but disowned me when she found out. And so—" Brigette sighs quietly here, looking down at the empty ring finger on her left hand, "—so I married Zacharie."

Blair is silent for a long while, and Brigette continues to stare at her bare finger, lost in thought.

"What happened to him?" Blair asks, meeting Brigette's eyes with a curious one of her own. It would be insane to not notice the parallels between her life and Brigette's, or the similarities between Christian and a certain other with a reputation for depravity. "Christian, I mean."

Brigette hesitates slightly, and Blair knows she has overstepped the bounds.

"Only if you're—"

"No, it's quite alright," Brigette says, her tone one of forced composure. "Christian, he's—he's currently living in Berlin, I believe."

Blair nods politely, and though she finds her curiosity piqued by this woman's story, she keeps her questions to herself.

Eleanor would be proud.

"You are curious," Brigette says with a small laugh. "Suffice to say, Christian and I have not spoken for years. Not since he begged me not to marry Zacharie and then smashed a vase at the reception."

The parallels are becoming slightly more uncomfortable and Blair finds her curiosity waning. She does not want to know what has transpired between Christian and Brigette—only what _will_ happen between Christian and Brigette.

Brigette glances at her watch and frowns slightly.

"I do apologize, I meant to keep this brief. Léon told me about how you and your boyfriend had conspired to blackmail his family. And I wanted to thank you both, for getting me out of this marriage," Brigette says with a beatific smile. "Now, I leave with my dignity intact—and a sizeable sum to my bank account," she adds slyly.

"I'm glad we helped," Blair says with a genuine smile. Truthfully, she _is_ glad, because a part of her had worried over the fact that her and Chuck had essentially broken up a marriage. A sham of a marriage, but a marriage no less.

"Would you pass on my thanks to your boyfriend?" Brigette requests. "I meant to catch you two at the same time, but it turns out I'll have only met one of you. If you're ever in Paris, do give me a call."

Blair forces a smile. She has two options at this point. To promise Brigette she will pass on her thanks to Chuck, especially when she knows that talking to Chuck is not something that will occur in the near future, would be easiest. But at the same time, Blair feels strangely compelled to tell Brigette that she and Chuck are no longer together. It is as if she must now divulge the status of her and Chuck's relationship, after hearing Brigette's story.

"I'll tell him," Blair replies with a tight smile.

"Thank you. It was lovely meeting you, Blair," Brigette says with a warm smile, standing up to shake Blair's hand.

"And you too," Blair replies. And because she cannot help herself— "Brigette, if I may ask, what are you going to do now?"

The smile Brigette gives her is one of pure glee.

"I'm catching a flight to Berlin."

…

"Jenny."

He doesn't meet her eyes, if anything, he doesn't even _glance_ at her. Chuck's eyes remain glued to the baby swaddled in orange and white blankets in the corner, though he remains rooted in his spot by the door.

"Chuck." Jenny swallows, and she knows that this is it. This is the moment where she must learn to grow up and accept what she has done.

"I'm sorry about Blair," she whispers, though she knows that the apology cannot even begin to encompass what she has put them through. Chuck's jaw clenches, but he says nothing, eyes still glued on the sleeping bundle. "I'm sorry for everything—"

"I didn't come here for an apology," he says, and Jenny merely nods from her spot, cross-legged on the couch beside her baby's crib.

"You're here because my brother asked you to be," Jenny states, because there is at least ten feet of space between them, and yet all Jenny can think of is one night of her life that she will forever regret.

"No," Chuck replies resolutely. "I'm here because Blair asked me to be."

"Blair?" Jenny repeats in disbelief.

Chuck nods. "Blair doesn't believe that you should give up the baby."

"Blair?" Jenny repeats again, furrowing her brow. Of all the people in New York, she would expect Blair to be the _last_ to believe that. "But—I'm not—This isn't—"

"Serena told us everything," Chuck tells her, eyes still avoiding hers and now trained on a black and white print in the corner. "But there's nothing standing in the way of you keeping him now."

The statement is so ironic that Jenny has the urge to laugh. Besides the fact that it would be ill-advised in this situation, she knows that waking up the baby at this time would be the worst of all.

"I'm seventeen," she tells him. "I don't want this baby. Everyone keeps telling me otherwise, but the short of it is that I'm not ready for a child. None of this was supposed to happen. You were never supposed to know. Blair was never supposed to know. I was supposed to—"

"To give him up and continue your life as if nothing happened?" Chuck asks.

"Well—yes," Jenny falters, but when Chuck says it as bluntly as he does, she realizes that she cannot imagine a future _not_ knowing her child.

"We both know you won't be able to give him up," Chuck states.

"They're keeping him here as a precaution. The doctor said he's ready to leave," Jenny says quietly. "I didn't realize it until he said that. I didn't realize how much I _didn't_ want to give him up."

Jenny looks up from her hands, glancing quickly at Chuck before glancing away, as if afraid of what she would see.

His expression is one of restrained calm. Jenny has absolutely no clue what he is thinking—nothing about his expression, his tone, nor his actions, give anything away.

Then again, Jenny Humphrey has never been able to read Chuck Bass. The only one who has ever held that honor was Blair Waldorf.

And when she reflects on her actions, the whirlwind of rebellious behavior that led her to her current predicament, she wonders what their lives would have been like if she hadn't royally screwed them over.

"I'm sorry," Jenny repeats her earlier words, but this time, there is an honesty that wasn't present before. "Dan and Serena should never have told you. I'm sorry I had to drag you—and Blair—into this mess. Neither of you deserve this."

Chuck regards her carefully, still betraying not an ounce of expression. Jenny thinks back to the handful of times she has met Bart Bass. And she knows why Chuck's expression is eerily familiar.

"I know what I've done can never be undone," Jenny explains quietly. "But I'm done making mistakes."

"Mistakes," Chuck repeats hollowly. And Jenny nods in return. What had transpired between them had been a mistake on both their parts—an event that should never have occurred had luck been in their favor. When it came down to it, it was no one's fault. It was merely a chance mistake that had led to the unraveling of both their lives.

"I'm going to keep him," Jenny says quietly. She knows there is no other choice now—she had been worried about Chuck and Blair, and now that that obstacle has been removed, she is free to keep him; free to watch him grow up and to love him. Free to protect her baby, to make sure he never sets foot in the Upper East Side because it was where her problems began and ended.

There is one other obstacle, of course, but if she plays her cards right, she will escape the shame of—

"Did you ever think you wouldn't?" Chuck asks, but the sarcasm falls flat when the curiosity shines through his veneer.

"No," Jenny shakes her head with a small, rueful smile. "I've been trying to convince myself that the right thing to do would be to give him up. But I couldn't bring myself to do it."

"Tell—"Jenny pauses, unsure if this is the right course of their stilted conversation. Nevertheless, she forges on valiantly, "—tell Blair I'm grateful. Tell her I'm sorry. Tell her I'll never interfere in either of your lives again. This—this is the last time you'll hear from me."

Chuck nods tightly, and Jenny still yearns to know what he is thinking. First and foremost in his mind will be Blair, of course. But Jenny wonders as to what he thinks of the entire situation. If she weren't so afraid of her mother's judgment and her father's disappointment, she could easily resolve this entire situation for Chuck and Blair—truly allow them to freely live their lives without her.

But she is seventeen. Her mistakes have been committed and she is too far gone to go back now. She can only focus on the present. On her son.

"You'll have child support, of course," Chuck clears his throat awkwardly, shifting from one foot to the other, looking highly uncomfortable. "Whatever you—he needs, just—"

"I don't want your money, Chuck," Jenny says quickly. It would be wrong, either way, to accept it. Especially when she is unsure of the—

"You'll take it," Chuck says, and his tone brooks no argument. "You'll be able to send him to the best schools, buy the best things, the best—"

"I don't _want_ the best," Jenny argues. She has lived so much of her life yearning for the best that she has forgotten what it is like to simply be content with _her_ best.

"You'll—"

"Chuck," Jenny interrupts. "I have to say—"

But her confession is interrupted by Chuck, who waves it off impassively.

"You'll take the money. You'll have sole custody. I won't fight you on that. You can tell him who his father is. When he's older, if he asks who his father is…you—you can tell him."

Chuck says all of this quickly, blurting out the speech as if it has been planned in his head and is now spilling out in a jumble of words and a reel of emotions.

"I don't want to be a part of his life," Chuck admits quietly, and Jenny can see the shame that fills his expression as he looks away. "But I won't be my father. If he so chooses, I _will_ be a part of his life. I won't expect Blair to be a part of his life. That's not fair to her. I won't turn my back on him, but I can't—I can't—"

"I understand," Jenny says. And she admits that she is slightly relieved to hear his words.

"If I was Blair," Jenny begins wryly, and she notices the slight wince at the love of his life's name, "you would want to be a part of his life, wouldn't you?"

Chuck's jaw tenses, and Jenny can tell she has hit a nerve. The question needs no answer—she already knows what he will say.

"I'm trying," he tell her. "I'm trying to make the best out of this goddamn shit situation, and I'm trying not to run, and I'm trying to be strong. I'm _trying_, goddamit."

The decibel of his voice rises, and it is enough to wake up the baby boy not eight feet from him. And suddenly, the air is broken by a wail, a cry, a shriek from a child for the comfort of a mother.

Jenny glances at Chuck warily, whose expression is one of complete fear. He looks ready to bolt from the room at any second, but as though _something_ is keeping him rooted in place. Transfixed, he watches on as Jenny takes the as of yet unnamed baby boy out from his crib.

"Shh," she comforts, holding the child in a way she has become accustomed to. It is strange, how well she has adapted to motherhood. Strange, that a year ago, she had different ideals. Strange, how she has transitioned from an irresponsible, reckless teenager to one who is now capable of caring for another life.

The baby's cries quiet almost immediately, and Jenny finally turns to Chuck, whose expression remains unclear.

"Would you like—" she falters, unsure of what to say. "Do you—do you want to hold him?"

At first, Chuck's expression turns to utter fear. He is almost on the verge of saying _no_ when something changes. His eyes fall on the baby and he nods almost imperceptibly, gulping down air as if the room was in short supply.

"I know," Jenny says, as she hands the baby to Chuck. "Blair knows too. That you're trying. And I really think that—that everything's going to work out. Everything's going to be okay."

Chuck doesn't seem to hear her as he takes the baby into his arms. The tiny child looks up at him curiously, and Chuck looks right back at him.

He didn't know what to expect when he first crossed the threshold of the room. He had avoided all thoughts of the child because he didn't know _what_ he should feel. Some sort of immediate connection, perhaps? Maybe an instant father-son bond? Neither of these were things he felt when he took the baby into his arms. And he wonders, for a moment, if he really is like his father. If he cannot feel anything for his supposed child, then what does that make him?

Chuck doesn't know how to answer that. He only knows that as of right now, he has accomplished what he needed to do—convince Jenny to keep the baby—and he needs to go back to New York. Needs to find a way to fix things with Blair. He can deal with everything else after that. This baby may be his, but for some unknown reason, Chuck cannot find a way to summon any sort of paternal love for the child.

And when he focuses once more on the baby in his arms, he realizes why. Because the first thing he notices is the bright green of the baby's eyes. A green that he has never seen within the Bass family—nor the Humphrey family, although he has to admit that he has not met too many members of the Humphrey clan. Nevertheless, the baby is all Jenny—a miniature, male version of her without a trace of him. Save for his eyes, a bright, almost otherworldly green.

"Do you really believe that?" Chuck asks, handing the baby back to Jenny. He knows what he should ask, but at this point, it does not matter. _He_ has his proof, and he knows he will be able to convince Blair. Blair has to believe him. Because he loves her. Because she loves him. Because she's all he's ever known and she's the only family he'll ever have.

Jenny bites her lip, shifting the baby in her arms.

"Yeah."

"Take care of yourself—and him. I'll be in touch."

Chuck's thoughts spinning, he turns on his heel to leave, already planning and plotting how best to convince Blair.

Because he has been _right_ all along.

* * *

tbc


	25. Chapter 24

**AN: A thousand sincere apologies for the wait. Exams got in the way, and when they were done, a five-week trip to Quebec. I hope this chapter makes up for the wait, and that you enjoy the rest of the journey I have planned.**

**Enormous thanks to my reviewers and readers (if I have any left!), and to bethaboo, as always.**

* * *

"Green, Serena. His eyes are _green_."

"I know, but you didn't even ask for a paternity test—"

"I can ask for one later."

"But—"

Serena trails off, catching sight of Chuck's hopeful expression. He is on the edge of his seat, wearing an expression of trepidation and gleefulness all at once. And Serena cannot bring herself to tell him that the baby in the hospital room is his son. There is no other alternative. To her knowledge, Chuck had been the only one Jenny had slept with before departing for Hudson.

The true reason he does not want a paternity test is not because of time constraints, although she expects that Chuck is in a hurry to tell Blair. The true reason he does not want a paternity test is because this is all the hope he has left.

Serena smiles weakly at Chuck, knowing that the hope he has is false.

"Don't deny it, Serena. You know as well as I do that that baby looks nothing like me."

Serena nods, agreeing that the baby does _not_ look like Chuck in the slightest. Come to think of it, she has not recalled Jenny ever saying that Chuck is the father. Searching through her memories of the past few days, searching for the one piece of confirmation that would dash Chuck's hopes but reaffirm her convictions, Serena finds that she cannot come up with a single situation. Granted, she _is_ tired, but she honestly cannot remember Jenny saying that Chuck is the father. Jenny had always shut the conversation down quickly whenever his name was mentioned. She had also been evasive whenever the subject of the baby's father had come up—at the time, Serena had attributed it to the fact that her and Chuck's actions had caused such a catastrophe to follow. But now, as she watches the hope unfold in Chuck's expression, she wonders if it is because Jenny herself is unsure of the paternity.

Maybe a little hope isn't so bad, Serena thinks.

…

"Blair?"

She freezes when she hears her name echoing around the foyer. Hairbrush in hand, she sets it down on her vanity as quietly as she can manage. With Dorota gone for the night, she is completely alone.

But Chuck doesn't have to know that she is here at all.

The overhead light is shut off with a quiet click, and Blair tiptoes to the inside of her darkened closet. Finding refuge amongst tweed skirts and silk blouses, she sinks to the floor and waits.

There is a muffled conversation going on below her, but she cannot make out the words—only a distinctly masculine voice - Chuck - and a feminine one. She assumes the latter is Serena, which immediately intrigues her. Serena in New York would mean that Dan had returned as well.

Meaning that Chuck had been successful in convincing Jenny to keep the baby.

The thought is like a dead weight in her heart, weighing down her emotions and prompting a flood of tears to prick at her eyelids. Squeezing her eyes closed, Blair wills herself not to cry. Because even in the privacy of her own closet, the shame is present.

It had been her decision to convince Chuck to see Jenny. She had not been afraid of Chuck confessing his love for the girl once he had seen his child. She had never been afraid of losing him to _her_.

She had been afraid of losing him to _him_. To the tiny baby she had yet to properly meet, or even see. The baby that is the only innocent in this horrid situation.

The baby whose parents were Chuck Bass and Jenny Humphrey.

But this is the right decision, Blair tells herself. This is perhaps the most selfless thing she has ever done. And it hurts. It is the only way to describe the perpetual torment that twists through her being every time she even thinks about the future.

Because, once upon a time, the Princess had a future with a White Knight, a castle, and a happily ever after. The naivety of the Princess' future was not lost on the Dark Prince, who sought to possess the Princess herself. And once the Prince had fallen in love with the Princess, there was no going back.

She had tried—vainly—to imagine a future without Chuck Bass. Once, she had set her heart on being without him forever, deeming an incident too formidable to ever overcome. But they had done it. She still didn't fully grasp _how_, but she knew they had overcome what they had once believed to be their greatest obstacle.

But this is different. This is not a hotel, this is not about trust, nor love, nor jealousies, or Princes and three words, eight letters. This is a living, breathing, child who will want to know his father as he grows up. And Blair will accept this, because she has seen what it is like to grow up with only one parent.

And Blair knows that Chuck would never wish his childhood on anyone.

Reassured that her decision had been the right one, Blair allows herself to tiptoe towards her bedroom door, which is still partially open. From there, she can hear everything going on below. Chuck and Serena's voices carry up perfectly, though for some strange reason, they are both talking in whispers.

"Let's go." Serena's voice is pleading, and Blair can almost picture the puppy-dog expression that no doubt comes with the tone of her voice.

"She's here, Serena." And the sentence draws her to polar opposites of the spectrum. On one hand, she is almost elated—her and Chuck have always had something just _beyond_ comprehensible. On the other hand, it is unfortunate that he has realized this, because it means that he will not leave.

A determined Chuck Bass is someone she has had far too much experience with. And she knows as well as anyone that his tone speaks of determination.

"She's not," Serena insists. "If she were here, the lights wouldn't be off."

"Dorota's gone home for the night," Chuck shoots back.

"She's not here," Serena says tiredly. "Let's go home, Chuck. I'll come back in the morning—"

"_We'll_ come back in the morning," Serena corrects quickly.

"She—"

"She's not here. I don't know where she is, but she's not here, Chuck," Serena says gently.

There is no response from Chuck, and Blair breathes a quiet sigh of relief as she awaits the distinctive sound of the two of them reentering the elevator.

But she mistakes Chuck's silence as a sign of surrender. Perhaps it is her heart, beating incredibly loudly in her ears, but she doesn't hear the quiet ascent of Bottegas on marble steps.

"Waldorf."

The voice seems incredibly close to her ear, but when Blair jumps back, knocking her elbow into the doorframe, she realizes it is because Chuck is a mere three feet from her, and has the apparent ability to sneak up in front of her without her noticing.

"Chuck? What—" Serena reaches the landing, looking from Chuck to Blair in surprise.

"What did I say?" Chuck asks smugly.

"B!" Serena exclaims, bounding forward to hug her best friend.

"S," Blair returns, accepting the hug whilst glaring at Chuck over Serena's mane of blonde hair.

"Why didn't you—" Serena begins, when she finally releases Blair. Chuck maintains his distance, although his smug expression has almost morphed into one of yearning.

Almost.

"If it wasn't already clear by my hiding up here," Blair says with a frown, "then I'll make it clear now. I'm not in the mood for visitors, let alone him."

Though slightly relieved that Blair hadn't included _her_ in the exclusion, Serena turns immediately to Chuck with a sympathetic frown. Noting that his expression betrays nothing but impassiveness, she has to give credit to her stepbrother, who has always remained the most level-headed in any situation.

She supposes having Bart Bass as your father could do that to you.

"I'll send him back," Serena promises, already beginning to move towards Chuck.

"Wait," Chuck protests. "Blair—"

"No." Blair shakes her head fiercely. "There's nothing more to be said, Chuck. Go home."

Her cruelty is surprising to them both, but one glance at her face and Serena knows that saying the words is breaking Blair as much as it is killing Chuck.

"You don't mean that," he says quietly. Blair begins to protest, but he forges on quickly, getting the words out before she can contradict them. "Blair, I was right all along."

"Right about what?" Her curiosity outstrips her resolve, and Chuck allows himself a half-smile.

"The baby. It's not mine. It can't be mine, Blair."

The minute amount of hope that Blair had allowed to cross her features is erased almost immediately.

"No. No, Chuck. You don't get to play me like that. No more lies. I can't—"

"This is the truth," Chuck insists. "The baby's not mine, Blair. I _know_ it."

"He has green eyes," Serena supplies, and both Chuck and Blair look at her in surprise, as if they had forgotten the blonde in their midst.

Because a blonde in a brightly patterned coat and carrying a cheery yellow Chloé is very difficult to miss.

Blair turns to Chuck for confirmation, and he nods in agreement, his eyes seeking hers almost desperately.

And hope blossoms in Blair's own expression and overtakes her entire being, breathing _life_ into her. It's a hope she dared not touch, but proves to be far more compelling now.

Chuck makes his move then, taking her hand in his as Serena watches on in utter fascination. They have forgotten her entirely now, leaving her to marvel at the way they seem to be _connected_ in something that extends past the physical sense.

At first, Blair looks as if she will pull away, and the deadened, resigned look will return to her eyes. For a moment, Serena thinks Blair will push him away—instead, she wraps her dainty fingers around his, entwining their fingers together in an action so intimate Serena feels as though she is intruding.

And when Blair looks at him, the hope in her eyes is so desperate it breaks Serena's heart.

Because the possibility of Jenny's baby's father _not_ being Chuck is slim to none. And Serena's heart constricts slightly at the thought of Blair being hurt yet again.

"We don't know for sure," Serena interjects, interrupting the moment. She is on the receiving end of a harsh glare, but she knows she has to do this. To protect Blair. "We don't know if Chuck's the father, or if—"

"I'm _not_," Chuck retorts vehemently. "I'm not the father," turning to Blair, his expression turns pleading, "and if you need proof, we'll ask Jenny for a paternity test."

And just as suddenly as hope had sprung to her eyes, it leaves, replaced by a hardened reality that Blair knows all too well. She is unsure as to why Chuck is so sure he is not the father—the eyes alone is not enough proof.

"You didn't even get a paternity test? And what if it's not?" Blair whispers, stepping away from Chuck. The loss of contact is apparent to both of them, but she continues to step towards Serena. "If the baby really _is_ yours?"

Chuck is momentarily at a loss for words, but recovers quickly. "We can get past this, Blair. I—I wanted to tell you before I asked for one. But he's not mine. I _know_ it."

"No." She shakes her head vehemently, angry with Chuck for implanting this false hope, but mostly, she is furious with herself for allowing herself to hope. "Don't make this harder than it is, Chuck."

"I know that baby isn't mine," Chuck says, his tone bordering on manic. "She probably slept with some other guy after me, it's _his_. It's not mine. We—I—used protection. It's not fucking mine. Please, Blair—"

"Chuck," Serena says with a pitying expression as Blair merely stares at him in slight alarm. "Chuck, maybe you should—"

"I can't deal with this," Blair declares, her voice oddly high-pitched. "Not right now, not after the day I've—"

"Chuck, go home," Serena insists, leading Blair towards her bedroom. But the girl needs no help, shrugging off Serena's hand and closing the door, locking it behind her.

"I'm not leaving—"

"You're making this worse," Serena says gently. "Come back tomorrow, I'll take care of B tonight."

"I—"

"Home, Chuck."

"I don't have a home," he says hollowly, his voice rife with sneering derision.

Serena's heart breaks for him, but at the sound of quiet sobs, she turns towards Blair's door instead.

"B?" she knocks quietly, knowing that Blair is just on the other side of the door. "B, I'm here."

The door swings open and Serena rushes to hug her best friend.

Blair's quiet sobs fill her ears and her shaking shoulders fill her arms, but before she leads Blair back into her room, Serena hears the unmistakable ding of an elevator a floor below them.

…

"I don't know," Serena exhales quietly, glancing over at her sleeping best friend.

"They'll figure things out," Dan promises her, but it is an empty promise that does nothing to quell her fears.

"If you say so," Serena deadpans, rubbing her eyes. She is exhausted by this entire situation to the point where she would renounce her entire trust if someone would produce a magical solution to all of their problems. As it stands, she is stuck knee-deep in a mess so tangled she doesn't know where to begin. "How's Jenny?"

"Good," Dan says shortly. "She and the baby are home now. The doctor said it was fine, and I think Jenny just wanted out of that place."

"I don't blame her," Serena mutters. "How's the baby?"

"Still nameless," Dan jokes, but it falls flat. "Before she said she didn't want to name him because she was giving him up. But after Chuck and Blair managed to convince her otherwise…well, we're all getting a bit tired of calling him 'the baby'."

"Give her time," Serena suggests. She figures Jenny is probably weighing the name situation too heavily, wanting to give her child the perfect name, yet unsure as to what that name is. It isn't like she'd had months to choose a name. She had mentally prepared to give up her child instead.

"We all know what his name is going to be, though," Dan argues. "Owen. She's always wanted to name her first boy Owen."

"Owen Ba—" Serena stops herself short, because in light of Chuck's conviction that the child is not his, she has to wonder what last name the baby will take.

"I'm not too keen on him having Bass as a last name either," Dan says with a sigh. "But Chuck—Chuck's been…well, to use my mother's words, he's been admirable." Dan's tone is part disgust and part mystification, and Serena has to giggle slightly at the words.

"You can't fault him for anything that's happened," Serena reminds him.

"I know," Dan exhales. "I don't blame Chuck—or Blair—anymore. If you—if you see them before I'm back in New York, thank them for me. What they did—"

"Destroyed them, but saved Jenny's baby," Serena says flatly.

"They—"

"It isn't her fault either," Serena says quickly. "It's just…Dan, they've come so far, and this has destroyed them."

"I wish it didn't—"

"Me too," Serena interrupts. "I wish this had happened to someone else. I'd even dare to say you and I, because Chuck and Blair…they don't deserve this. Not after all they've been through."

Dan's agreement is almost frightened, and Serena guesses that the possibility of _her_ being pregnant is a bit too much to handle at this point. But before Dan can formulate whole sentences, Blair begins to stir, and Serena knows that tea, croissants, and Audrey are imminent.

"I'll talk to you soon," she promises Dan. "Love you."

She nearly cuts off his repeated sentiment in her haste to ready a suitable breakfast before Blair wakes.

Because Dan is her boyfriend—and quite possibly the love of her life—but Blair is her sister.

And as Serena rushes down the marble steps, mulling over the conversation as she goes, realization hits her as she turns towards the kitchen.

Perhaps, Jenny is putting off naming the baby because she is unsure as to the last name of her child—meaning that she is as unsure about the baby's paternity as they are.

It is a far-fetched idea, and one Serena knows she must not bring up to Blair, lest she feed the false hope that had almost imprisoned her best friend.

But as Serena places two freshly-baked croissants onto Blair's favorite blue-rimmed plates, she continues to allow herself to hope that maybe, just _maybe_, the baby isn't Chuck's.

…

"Blair?"

"Nate."

Her voice is resigned, an almost defeated tone that matches her posture—slouched and worn out. Serena had abandoned her earlier, claiming lunch with Lily that she simply couldn't get out of. But from her harried expression and evasive answers, Blair knew that Serena was off to see Chuck—presumably to check if he were alive.

"I heard—" Nate clears his throat awkwardly. He doesn't know how to broach this topic, having been completely out of the loop with Serena, Chuck, and Blair, for the past week. He supposes the lack of communication between him, Chuck, and Blair, is of his own doing, but he had noticed—along with half of Manhattan—the lack of Gossip Girl updates on the two. When Lily informed him that Serena had gone up to Hudson with Dan, his stomach dropped and he had gone to Blair's place without thinking it completely through.

Come to think of it, he had never really thought _anything_ through. He had, however, thought about calling, and his thumb had hovered over the _Call_ button as he wrestled with indecision, ultimately closing his phone and lighting up yet again.

"Yes?" Blair is suddenly back to her old self, her polite tone laced with condescension and impatience.

"I heard Serena and Dan are up in Hudson," Nate finishes quickly. "I was—"

"We know," Blair tells him, her voice completely flat. "We saw the baby."

"It was _born_?" Nate asks in surprise. He hadn't expected daily updates from Jenny, but he had presumed she would call once she'd had the baby. He's not sure if it's the shock, or the five miles he had run that morning, but his legs seem to collapse under him as he slumps beside Blair on the couch.

"I th—yes," Blair says in irritation. "That's usually what happens when someone is pregnant, Nate."

Nate ducks his head and Blair smiles slightly—the exchange reminds her of times when teasing Nate came as second nature. Chuck would back her up and provide a smirk or remark of his own. Serena, of course, would stalwartly defend Nate, or simply laugh, a bubbly, exuberant laugh that the other three couldn't help but join in on.

"She really did have the baby then," Nate says in slight wonder. "Did she give him up?"

Blair hesitates, biting her lip as unwonted tears fill her eyes.

"Hey," Nate says awkwardly, touching her elbow as if attempting comfort. It is strange how this girl used to be the woman he imagined he would one day marry. It is strange how far they have come from junior year—strange how far they have grown apart, and yet, inexplicably closer.

"I'm fine," Blair mutters, but she allows him to put his arm around her, a move both unfamiliar and commonplace at once.

"I'm sorry," Nate supplies, but it is a futile apology. "I didn't want to tell—"

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Blair tells him with a laugh, her head on his shoulder. It is comforting in the sense that they no longer have any romantic feelings for each other—but the familiarity is welcome in this foreign situation. "If it weren't for Dan Humphrey, of all people, Chuck and I would never have found out. You and Serena are either too sympathetic to Little J's feelings, or too protective of us."

"I know." Nate shrugs. "I'm sorry anyways. I knew you and Ch—I knew you were happy."

"_We_ were happy," Blair agrees sadly. "We—" and somehow, he doesn't need confirmation that she is talking about him and her, and not her and Chuck. "We were happy once too."

Nate takes a moment to contemplate this statement.

"I don't think so," he starts slowly.

"No?" Blair asks, confusion coloring her tone.

"If we were happy, you wouldn't have slept with my best friend," Nate points out. His tone carries no bitterness, having come to terms with the situation a long time ago. It is odd, how he has simply accepted that Chuck and Blair were always meant to be—he had just been an unwelcome obstacle in the unpredictable course of their relationship.

"If we were happy you wouldn't have cheated on me with my best friend," Blair replies with a sigh, and again, her tone remains light, the resentfulness all but erased.

"I am sorry," Nate repeats, and Blair laughs quietly.

"You apologize too much, Archibald," she chastises lightly.

"Sor—" he catches himself before the word is completed, and he and Blair share a laugh, though the joy is gone within seconds as their harsh reality is apparent once more.

"Chuck's sorry too," Nate says instead, though he knows the subject is a sore spot for Blair when she tenses, eyes falling shut as if to ward off imminent tears.

"I know," Blair says coldly, opening her eyes and staring straight ahead. She is done crying—the futile tears no longer have a place in her life.

"But—"

"But this isn't something we can just get over," Blair says with a sigh, sitting up and righting herself. "This is it, Nate. The end."

The resolve in her voice is so forced that Nate _knows_ she is trying to convince herself of this as much as she is trying to convince him.

"You don't believe that," he acknowledges. "Because you and I both know that you and Chuck—well, I don't really know how to define your guys' relationship. But I can't see the both of you _not_ ending up together."

Blair scrutinizes Nate carefully, narrowing her charcoal-rimmed eyes at him.

"What?" he asks self-consciously, because with Blair, you never knew what she was thinking.

Unless you were Chuck Bass, of course. Nate isn't sure how Chuck managed to learn how to read Blair so well, but he figures that his best friend is better for the job than him anyways.

"You're surprisingly intelligent, Archibald," Blair observes. "For a boy."

"Gee, thanks, Blair," Nate jokes, and another small smile lights up her face before it vanishes again.

"But you're wrong," she sighs.

"You'll figure this out," Nate tells her, and he is unsure as to where the conviction in his voice comes from. Unsure as to when this fixation on fixing Chuck and Blair's relationship became a priority. "I know you will."

Blair shakes her head at him sadly, as if he is simply too dense to understand. Perhaps a few months ago, he was. But as he stands, giving Blair one last hug before departing her penthouse with a goodbye, he knows that this time, it is _Blair_ who does not understand. Or is, in fact, in denial.

Because it is clear to everyone, himself included, that Chuck and Blair would end up together one day. But this is different—something far more consequential than anything they have ever dealt with before.

His thoughts become tangled beyond repair and Nate suddenly wishes he had a blunt, something that usually goes hand-in-hand with his best friend.

Before he can fully understand what he is doing, Nate is calling his best friend.

It goes to voicemail.

"Chuck, I know you're there. Ignoring my calls? Come on, man…. I—I never meant to just leave. I didn't know if—well, I didn't know what to do in my position—I'm coming over to the Empire."

…

"I thought you were staying at your parents'."

Nate whips around in surprise to find an unkempt, unshaven, and completely un-Bass-like Chuck Bass sitting on the floor, scotch in hand.

"You aren't answering my calls," Nate accuses.

"Phone's dead." Chuck gestures towards the darkened phone in front of him—but Nate knows for a fact that his charger is a mere three feet away.

"Your charger is—"

"I know where my charger is, Nathaniel, unlike you I don't need a GPS to find the kitchen," Chuck says brusquely. "Now, what is it that you want from me?"

Nate ignores the earlier part of Chuck's sentence, but finds that he cannot answer the latter. Because even he is unsure as to _why_ he is at the Empire. Even more befuddling to him are his feelings towards Chuck, the baby, and Jenny. He must admit that he is more than a little hurt at Jenny's lack of updates, but as a new mother he suppose he cannot fault her for that. But even then, Nate is still unsure as to where he stands with her. When he had visited, the baby had not yet existed outside her womb, and Nate could still pretend that they had a shot. Now, now things were different.

It's as if he'd been denying the baby's existence until he no longer could. Because the child tied his best friend and Jenny together in a way that would forever bond them together. They had had a _child_ together—there is no forgetting that. And Nate wonders how he could have been so blasé about the entire situation before when his head feels close to exploding at the moment.

"I was just at Blair's."

Nate blames the muddled mess of his thoughts for what comes from his mouth. He watches as Chuck's shoulders tense, but his expression remains guarded.

"I told her I thought you guys could work through this," Nate continues, and he can tell from Chuck's posture that he is saying all the wrong things. "But now I'm not so sure."

He's not really even sure what he's saying, but as soon as the words fly out of his mouth, he knows exactly what they mean. If he cannot truly envision himself with Jenny, and becoming a father-figure to Chuck's son, it is unfair of him to expect the same of Blair. He suddenly realizes that the two of them are in a similar position.

"Why?" Chuck can't help but allow the syllable to drop from his lips, though it is laced with condescension.

"Because I can't see myself acting as a father figure to your son," Nate says bluntly. He knows that beating around the bush is useless here. "And it would be unfair to expect the same of Blair."

"Except that he's not my son," Chuck retorts almost desperately. "He's—"

"Did you do a paternity test?" Nate asks in surprise. He recalls a conversation he'd had with Jenny, in which she viciously cut him off when he'd mentioned paternity tests. She had been adamantly against it, saying that she was giving up the child either way, and it didn't apply to her. He didn't expect that it was because there was a possibility it wasn't Chuck's child.

"No," Chuck says shortly. "I was too preoccupied with coming back to New York—"

"I know Jenny hasn't been the most…trustworthy." Nate winces at his word choice. "But she wouldn't lie about this Chuck."

"He's not mine," Chuck repeats fiercely. "Think about it, Nathaniel. Has she ever explicitly said she was? He's not mine. I saw him—he's got green eyes. He looks nothing like me. He—"

"She never said that," Nate blurts out in realization, and Chuck looks at him with a smug smile, the barest hint of expression that Nate has seen during the entirety of his visit. "Every time someone brought up the paternity of the baby she would shut it down immediately."

"Exactly," Chuck says complacently.

"But that—" Nate frowns, "that doesn't mean he isn't yours, Chuck. Even if she did…sleep with another guy, there's still a chance—"

"No."

Chuck's voice is low, almost foreboding.

"No, Nathaniel. You haven't seen him. I _know_, Nate. I know he isn't mine. It's not just the eyes—I don't feel anything for him. He's just another kid and—"

Though his voice remains low, Nate senses the panic in Chuck's voice. Because even if Jenny _had_ slept with someone else, there remains a chance that the child is Chuck's. And Nate realizes that the panic stems from Chuck's fear that he will be exactly like his father.

"Nothing?" Nate asks hoarsely, and Chuck nods in confirmation.

"If he _is_ mine," Chuck begins, "then _they_ were all right. I'm exactly like my father. He can't be mine, Nate. He just can't."

Standing a few feet from Chuck, Nate can only watch helplessly as his best friend downs the rest of his scotch.

When the glass is drained, Chuck tilting his head back to catch the last drop, Nate stalks over and pushes the bottle out of Chuck's reach.

"Get yourself together, man," he tells him, voice slightly muffled as he attempts to heave a slightly drunk Chuck Bass to his feet. "You're going to sleep this off. Then tomorrow morning, you'll call Jenny. And you'll ask for a paternity test."

Chuck's expression is one of surprise, but with Nate's help, allows himself to be dragged to his bed. He was never used to taking instructions from anyone, least of all Nathaniel.

"And if he's mine?"

Nate almost doesn't hear the muffled question, but he is sure of his answer.

It's the only right way.

"Then you man up and be a better father than Bart ever was," Nate tells him.

"And you let Blair go."

…

"How is he?"

Jenny smiles happily at Dan from her spot by the crib. Her left foot is asleep from sitting by the crib all day, but she doesn't care. It's enough to just sit and watch her son sleep, to be at the ready when his inevitable cries start, to reach past the painted white wood, pick him up, and cradle him in her arms.

She had never thought about motherhood before. She had been too young, too reckless, and too full of ambition to see anything past the present. She hadn't even thought about it while pregnant, having been dead set on giving the baby up.

Now she can't imagine a life without him.

"Perfect," Jenny breathes, her eyes never leaving her son. She doesn't need anyone, she decides, if she can just have him.

It's odd how motherhood has changed her.

She's become less abrasive. Less closed off to others' opinions. More loving. Less ruthless. More…mature.

"I was talking to mom," Dan begins carefully, knowing the topic is a prickly one. Alison had more or less accepted the idea of Jenny keeping the baby, and had become enamored with the child herself. But she had begun to push Jenny to tell her father, who was still in the dark. The calls were brief, and stilted to the point where Rufus had wondered aloud if Dan had developed some vendetta against him as well.

"She wants me to tell dad," Jenny finishes with a sigh, still watching her baby. She knows it is high time to pick a name for her child, if only so they can stop referring to him as "the baby". But that is one thing she wants to put off, if only for a little while longer.

"That, and she asked me to give you this," Dan says sheepishly, revealing a baby name book in his hands.

Jenny rolls her eyes, but accepts the proffered book.

"Tell mom I say thanks."

And she returns to watching her baby, listening as Dan exits the room once more.

"Jen—" Dan hesitates in the hallway. "Jenny, you're keeping him. Chuck and Blair know. Serena knows. I know. He deserves to know, Jenny. I know you think—"

"I _know_," Jenny whispers, closing her eyes. "I know, Dan. I just—just give me a few more days. A few more days, that's all I'm asking for."

"But—"

"I'll tell him soon, alright?" Jenny snaps in irritation. She just wants to be left alone, alone with her son because he is the only one who will not judge her in this situation.

"Okay," Dan relents with a sigh, closing the door behind him. They are at a standstill, waiting for Jenny's next move. Waiting for her to do _something_ so they can all find a way to normalize the mess their lives have become.

Inside, Jenny drops her chin to her knee and continues to watch her son. Because telling her dad would mean having to hear the disappointment in his voice. She hasn't been Daddy's Little Girl in a long time—she hasn't been Jenny Humphrey even longer.

Denial has never really been her forte. But she had been denying two things, she realizes. Two things that she must face eventually. She had thought this would be a fresh start. A new beginning. A blank slate upon which to re-write Jenny Humphrey's story.

Instead, her mistakes have caught up with her, and now she has a son, a son she mustn't bring into this mess.

She's doing this for him.

She will call Rufus tomorrow. But tonight she makes one confession to someone who deserves it.

"I love you," she whispers, gathering her sleeping baby in her arms. He squirms slightly and she automatically adjusts herself in response. His warm weight in her arms, the sparse, downy hair tickling her elbow, brings her a sense of peace. And the courage for what she has to do.

Blinking back her tears, Jenny steels herself, and counts to five.

_One_, she breathes in, long and deep, the sweet scent of baby powder filling her nostrils. _Two_, she breathes out. _Three_, she opens her eyes and looks down at her child. _Four_, she traces the tip of her finger down the planes of his face, already embedded deeply into her mind._ Five_, she takes his miniature hand in hers.

And in an instant, she is ready.

Shifting her child to one arm and reaching over for her phone, Jenny drops a kiss to his forehead and dials a number she hasn't in a while.

"Hello?"

Blair's voice is clipped, and from that alone, Jenny can tell that she has been crying.

"Hi, Blair. It's—it's Jenny."

There is a sharp intake of breath, and Jenny prays that Blair will not hang up. "Please, Blair, don't hang up, I—"

"You have two minutes," Blair snaps.

"I know I'm the last person you want to talk to," Jenny begins, only to be cut off by an irritated Blair.

"Get to the point, Jenny. Why did you call?"

"I—well, I need—I don't know how—I really should be talking to Chuck firs—"

"If you're calling for Chuck's number," Blair says, disgusted, "Serena has it too. You're wasting my time, Little J."

The use of her old nickname infuriates her slightly, and from that, Jenny gathers the courage to say what she needs to.

She just hopes she's doing the right thing.

"I need to tell you something."

"Well?" Blair prompts impatiently.

Jenny takes another deep breath, the familiar scent of lavender-scented cream filling her nostrils. And when she breathes out, she lets go of all the insecurities and judgment, of all the fear and the pretense. She lets go of the past, once and for all, by truly being honest—perhaps for the first time in a long time.

"He might not be Chuck's."

* * *

tbc


	26. Chapter 25

**AN: I apologize for the wait. Again. I completely understand if no one's reading this any longer, but this time I'm back for good. Promise.**

**And if not, you can kidnap me and force me to watch DB scenes till the end of time.**

**(In all seriousness, I like their friendship. Just not the possibility of a relationship.)  
**

**Thank you all for your support, your reviews, and for reading. The lack of review responses are because I thought you'd all rather get the chapter rather than a reply. But I really do love all of you for taking the time to read and review.**

* * *

"B?"

Serena steps into Blair's room tentatively, not knowing what to expect. The past few days had been trying, to say in the least. She had claimed an unavoidable lunch with Lily the past day, only to find herself standing in front of the Empire, unable to enter. Not because she was afraid per se, although it terrified her to think of the new rock bottom Chuck would hit in this situation. Because she hadn't a clue of what to do in this scenario, and because she knew that the only information she could give to Chuck about Blair (which would be the only information he cared about) would do nothing to lift his spirits.

Instead, she had flagged down another cab, and the first address that had popped into her head was out of her mouth before she could fully comprehend what she was saying.

And yet going to the Humphrey loft had been the best decision she had made in days. It was empty, and she'd had to search for the spare key in a dusty old flowerpot, but it was welcoming. Even without Dan, she had found a sense of peace within the place. It was a place, oddly enough, where she could sleep for the first time in weeks. She had simply fallen into Dan's bed and woken up at Dan's call. For whatever reason, she didn't mention that she was at his place—it felt odd when he was so far away.

Dan had been quiet, not an unusual occurrence since Jenny's situation had become known to them. And Serena, for once in her life, had nothing to say beyond the usual reports. It was somehow comforting for them both to simply be on the phone with each other, even if they were completely silent.

When Serena had left the Humphrey loft that night and made her way back to the Waldorf Penthouse, the optimism she had been faking for the past few days finally felt honest.

"B?" Serena calls again, looking round the room. The bed is made, to Blair's impeccable, hospital-corners, standards. With Dorota not due to arrive for another forty minutes, Serena takes the made bed as a good sign. Blair would _never_ deign to make her own bed, but she could also never bear to leave it unmade. The fact that she had gone through the trouble of making her bed and the fact that she was out of bed at a decent hour meant that Blair Waldorf was back.

Serena just wondered if that was because she had gotten over the entire situation, or if it was because she had begun planning some sort of scheme.

Either way, Serena smiles as she descends the stairs, wondering if she'll find Blair in the kitchen, eating a scone and wondering why she has allowed Dorota to arrive so late in the mornings.

…

Blair sighs as her phone rings for what seems to be the thousandth time. Advice coming from someone who used to call Blair crying and asking to be picked up in a seedy bar across town is not currently at the top of Blair's to-do list. Dealing with what Jenny Humphrey had told her last night is, however, quite close to the top of said list.

Sighing quietly as she rips off another piece of bread, Blair looks forlornly down at the last slice she holds in her hands. She had stopped at Le Pain Quotidien for the loaf, and with a rueful smile, thinks that these ducks must be the best fed in all of Manhattan. The gesture usually calmed her, but lately the act had done nothing but agitate her further.

_He might not be Chuck's_.

Jenny had sworn her to secrecy after her admittance the previous night, going on to explain that there had been someone else between Chuck and Jenny's realization that she was pregnant. Blair had held her breath all the while, as if the simple act of inhaling and exhaling was akin to allowing herself to _hope._ But it was too late. As soon as the words had left Jenny's mouth, Blair lost herself to hope that would do nothing but tear her down further.

It isn't entirely Jenny's fault, Blair realizes. After Chuck had visited her that night, the doubts were sown. Jenny's admittance only corroborated his story.

But even if Jenny had slept with someone else—and Blair can't say she is entirely surprised at this—there remains the chance that the baby _is_ Chuck's.

Frustrated, Blair tosses the last bit of bread into the pond with more force than necessary, the ducks looking up at her with what she imagines to be indignation.

It is the uncertainty that troubles her the most. Blair Waldorf has never dealt with uncertainty well. She likes order; carefully structured perfection planned to the last detail. She likes control, and unpredictable things are uncontrollable.

The baby is Chuck's, or it isn't. She has absolutely no control in this situation, except the control over her own feelings.

And even that control is slipping from her fingertips, tumbling from them like the bread had moments earlier.

When her phone rings for the thousandth and one time, Blair declines the call and scrolls down her contacts list instead. She is unsure as to who she is looking for—Nate may have been a contender, but she had a feeling the extent of his help in regards to her is limited; her mother is completely out of the question, as are her fathers. Scrolling through the list with practiced speed, she comes across one name in her desperate search.

_Brigette Desmarais_ is highlighted on her phone's screen, and somehow, Blair knows she is the right person to call.

Blair has known her not even a week, broken up the woman's marriage without ever meeting her, and yet, she feels as though this is someone whose opinion she will value.

Blair Waldorf taking advice from someone is a rare moment. Blair Waldorf _asking_ for advice is even more rare.

"Hello?"

"Brigette, it's Blair, I—"

"Oh, Blair! How are you, darling?"

"Wonderful, thank you," Blair replies automatically, although she is anything but. "And yourself?"

"Lovely. It's absolutely gorgeous here in Berlin during this time of the year."

"And Christian is—"

"Oh my, no. I'm merely enjoying the weather. I think I'll take a trip to the Charlottenburg Palace later tomorrow. I had the most delicious meal at—"

"I thought you were meeting Christian in Berlin," Blair says with a frown. The fairytale reunion she had imagined between Christian and Brigette seems childish now that the woman has not even met him.

"Well—"

"You're afraid," Blair realizes, and she takes Brigette's silence as a confirmation. "You're afraid that he's not the same person—"

"No, trust me, I know for certain that he has not changed—"

"Then it's because you've changed," Blair states, and again, Brigette rebuffs the statement.

"You've both grown up," Blair insists. "That's why you don't want to see him. Because you've both grown up, and now you don't know if things can go back to the way they were. When they were simple. Before everything fell apart. When you had a _future_."

The last word sticks in her throat and when the first tear falls, Blair realizes that she may not be talking about Brigette and Christian, but about Blair and Chuck.

"Oui," Brigette answers with a regretful sigh. "Tu es très intelligente pour une jeune fille."

"Je sais," Blair agrees, but with none of the usual self-assuredness that she usually possesses.

"I haven't seen him in two years," Brigette tells her. "It was at a museum opening—I remember my surprise, he would _never_ be caught dead in a museum. But I suppose that's what dating a curator will do to you."

"Did you—"

"No," Brigette answers the question swiftly. "I convinced Zacharie to return to the hotel, citing a headache. He was more than accommodating, especially because it gave him a suitable answer as to why he was out late without me."

Another wistful sigh, and Blair wipes away errant tears, resolving herself _not_ to become like Brigette Desmarais—forever wondering what could have been.

"I don't even know if he's married," Brigette admits with a rueful laugh. "I could look in the society papers, I suppose, but to do so…"

"What are you afraid of, really?" Blair suddenly blurts out, surprised at her own audacity. "You have nothing to lose—"

"I lose the hope that he would be mine," Brigette clarifies, her voice tinged with sadness. "I lose the chance that he _might_ be waiting for me—that even after all these years, he knows that I still love him."

"You'd rather not know, then know for sure," Blair ascertains. "But you'll live out the rest of your days adding to the 'what if's, of which you no doubt already have copious amounts of."

"Tu es correct," Brigette muses. "Mais, ce qui s'il est marié?"

"Then you tell him you love him," Blair says plainly. "Because love makes everything simple."

Saying it out loud forces her to realize that she still believes the statement—even after everything that has happened.

It doesn't matter if the baby is Chuck's.

Because in the end, love makes everything simple.

…

"You were right."

Nate whips around at the sound of Chuck's voice, the harsh rasp matching the unkempt state of his best friend.

"I won't be like Bart. This baby—if it really is mine—won't grow up without a father. He won't—won't end up like me. Not if I can do something about it."

"Are—"

"I'll ask for the paternity test tomorrow," Chuck decides. "I can't go on pretending it isn't mine without knowing for sure."

Nate nods, his expression grave. "I'm proud of you, man."

Chuck nods as well, taking a deep breath.

"But you're wrong about one thing."

Nate raises his eyebrows.

"I won't expect Blair to stay with me if she doesn't want to."

Nate nods, knowing that this is the right decision—and the fact that Chuck evidently agrees means that Chuck Bass is growing up.

"But I'm not letting go of her—I won't ever stop loving her."

Nate regards the expression in Chuck's eyes. The fierce determination to hold onto Blair, and the stalwart refusal to believe that they will be apart. And though Chuck Bass is growing up, and not quite as self-centered as his sixteen-year-old self, him not letting go of Blair is not a sign of selfishness.

Because they brought about more pain to themselves when they were apart than when they were together.

In actuality, Chuck not letting go of Blair only meant that he knew they were happier—_happiest—_together than apart.

…

"You—you want me to have a paternity test," Jenny stutters out, listening carefully for footsteps. This conversation is one she will only allow her son to be privy to. And only because he cannot understand.

She listens patiently to Blair's frustrated affirmation, and before Blair can launch into another soliloquy about how it is better for all of them to know, Jenny interrupts her boldly.

"You promised," she nearly accuses. "You promised not to tell—"

Blair's laugh of derision isn't jovial in the slightest, and it reminds Jenny of when she was a minion, and Blair her Queen.

Times haven't changed, even though she's slept with Chuck and now has a son.

"Little J," Blair says sweetly, "I'm not going to tell anyone."

Jenny knows what Blair will say next before the words are out of her mouth.

"You are."

"And if I refuse?" Jenny nearly shouts back, angry with herself for letting Blair in on her secret.

"You'll have to give in eventually," Blair tells her. "Chuck already suspects that the baby isn't his…"

Blair's voice cracks slightly at this, but Jenny is too dumbfounded by the statement to notice anything else.

"Did you—"

"No," Blair says shortly. "Chuck and I aren't speaking at the moment. But he—he noticed that the baby's eyes are green."

At Blair's hopeful tone, the way she emphasizes _green_, Jenny knows what Blair is indirectly asking.

"The guy—the guy I slept with, I met him on the train to Hudson," Jenny begins after a pause. "And—"

She knows that Blair is holding her breath. And her heart almost breaks for this girl—malicious as she is—because underneath it all, Blair is just as broken as she is. Just as afraid of others' opinions, craving acceptance. Wanting to be _worth_ something. Wanting a happily ever after.

And Jenny is about to ruin that happily ever after.

"He had blue eyes."

"Maybe it was the lighting," Blair hypothesizes, grasping at straws. "You _thought_ he had blue eyes, but really he had green. Or he was wearing colored contacts—"

"No," Jenny says quietly. "I'm sorry, Blair. He had blue eyes."

"His mother, or his father, even could have had green eyes," Blair continues to postulate, theories growing wilder.

"I—I don't know," Jenny admits. "But the same could be said for Chuck, Blair." She is loath to get the girl's hopes up, especially after all she has put her through already.

"No," Blair says quietly. "Neither Bart nor Evelyn had green eyes."

"It could be his," Jenny says after a moment's hesitation. "It could be—"

"You don't know his name?" Blair asks, a note of scorn in her voice.

"I wasn't—I wasn't thinking clearly," Jenny defends herself. "It was one time."

"That's why you don't want to name your baby," Blair states, rather than asks.

"His last name would be Humphrey either way," Jenny argues, only because she doesn't want to admit that Blair is correct.

Blair sniffs, but says nothing further. And Jenny wonders if it is safe to hang up, if she has dodged this bullet—for now.

"Blair, I've got to—"

"You're telling Chuck," Blair says decidedly, her voice strong, "that you're going to take a paternity test. What you do about the outcome is up to you. But you have to, Jenny. If not for me, or Chuck, for… your son."

Jenny finds that this is the one argument she cannot argue against, and although every nerve in her body is screaming at her to say no, to put this off for just a little longer, she knows that Blair is correct.

Putting off the paternity test won't solve anything. She doesn't even know what she _hopes_ the outcome will be—if it is Chuck, she is forever tied to him in a way she has never wished. Not to mention, she knows that she will—if she hasn't already— ruin Chuck and Blair's relationship. If it is the boy on the train, she has no way of finding him, and her situation will be tainted with even more shame.

"I'll do it," Jenny acquiesces. "I'll make arrangements to come back to New York. And I suppose I'll have to finally tell my dad as well."

"Your father doesn't kn—" Blair stops abruptly, and Jenny is relieved that she will not have to explain _why_ her father doesn't know.

"Thank you," Blair says instead.

The line goes dead, leaving Jenny to wonder if she has really received an apology from Blair Waldorf.

…

"Hey S,"

Serena jumps slightly at the sound of Blair's voice, looking up to find a weary Blair Waldorf at the threshold of her room.

"How are you?" Serena asks tentatively. She hadn't seen Blair all day, giving up after her forty-third call had been ignored. She figured she should give Blair some space.

"I've been better," Blair admits with a self-deprecating laugh, walking past Serena's bedroom and into the bathroom they share. "How was your day?"

"Fine," Serena responds edgily, making her way to the bathroom as well. Blair's behavior confuses her for reasons she can't pin down. The girl brushing out her hair is not the same girl who was crying in her arms some nights before. But she isn't _happy,_ either.

"Talk to Dan?" Blair asks, perhaps a little too innocently.

"Yeah," Serena hedges, "and I'm supposed to call him in a bit, too. But if you want to watch Audrey movies, or something—"

"I think I'm going to go out tonight," Blair says, tilting her head at her reflection and gathering her hair up in her hands.

"Out?" Serena asks, slightly alarmed.

"I'm not going to do body shots off some half-naked guy and throw myself at investment bankers," Blair says pointedly.

"I'll come with you," Serena suggests, not convinced in the slightest.

"Really, S," Blair rolls her eyes. "I just—I need one night of fun after the hell I've been put through the past few days. Not to mention what'll happen in the next few days."

"What's happening in the next few days?" Serena asks warily, eyebrows knit.

Blair chews her lip, hesitating until Serena presses her further.

"I can't say," she finally admits. Why she is keeping a secret from her best friend—especially when it is Little J's secret and about to be told in a matter of days, if not hours, is beyond her.

Serena's expression is one of absolute bewilderment.

"I'm sorry. You—you should ask Dan when they're coming back to New York."

"They?" Serena questions. "They, as in Dan, Jenny, and the baby?"

Blair hesitates again, and Serena watches her best friend's conflicted expression with a worried one of her own.

"Talk to Dan tonight." Is all Blair tells her, before turning to her own room and closing the door.

Leaving Serena to puzzle over their exchange. She knew Dan would be coming back, sooner or later, but she hadn't thought Jenny would return. Would Jenny's return be temporary? To sort out whatever it was between her and Chuck? And why would Blair, of all people, be the first to know about this?

Frowning, Serena contemplated calling Dan immediately, but before she could make her decision, the sound of hangers being picked through reached her ears.

Dan could wait. This whole Jenny situation could wait. Blair was right. They deserved tonight.

Slipping into her newest Saks purchase and applying a fresh coat of gloss, Serena nearly skipped the few feet to Blair's room. Poking her head in, she smiled at the sight of her best friend debating between two different pairs of shoes—black lacy Valentinos on her left foot, blood red Manolos on the other.

"The Valentinos," Serena says with a smirk, flopping onto Blair's bed. She ignores Blair's look of reproach—she knows she probably threw all sixteen of Blair's carefully arranged pillows into disarray. "Then I can borrow the Manolos."

"They're not in your size," Blair points out.

"I'll squeeze," Serena says with a shrug, although she winces at the thought as Blair disappears into her closet once more, presumably to put on the Valentinos. "Where are you thinking of going?"

When no answer comes, Serena looks over at the closet door once more, "Blair?"

"I'm thinking Jimmy," Blair says with a small smile, emerging from her closet, shoebox in hand, feet clad in the Valentinos Serena had suggested.

"What's that?" Serena asks, the distinctive black Manolo Blahnik logo indicative of its contents. Only Blair never kept shoe boxes—Dorota was tasked with organizing Blair's ever-expanding collection in a space that was being outgrown at a rapid pace.

"You didn't think I was going to let you _borrow_ my shoes, did you?" Blair asks faux-haughtily, handing Serena the box with a disinterested air.

Serena grins as she lifts the top, revealing the same red Manolos in her size.

"Oh B," she says with a happy sigh.

"I figured I owed you, since I didn't buy you these for Christmas," Blair says with a smile. "And for everything you've done for me—I—"

She is cut off by Serena, who nearly topples the both of them over with the force of her hug.

"You're my sister," Serena says simply. "I'm always here for you."

Blair smiles as she pulls back, blinking a tear out of her eye and regarding Serena's expression.

"Besides, you would've stretched my shoes out beyond repair, and then I wouldn't have been able to wear them."

Serena laughs as she slips into her new shoes, slinging her arm into Blair's as they make their way down the marble steps, their laughter echoing round the foyer.

…

"Dad?"

"Jenny," her father's voice nearly brings tears to her eyes. After months of self-imposed exile, just hearing her father's voice brings a sense of comfort, of safety.

Though neither will last long, as Jenny sees no positive outcome for their conversation.

"How are you?" Her father's question is slightly accusatory, an unspoken _I haven't head from you in a while_ hanging between them.

"Good," Jenny says shortly. "And you?"

Her dad answers offhandedly, mentioning something about Lily or Eric, something Jenny can grasp onto and ask about.

Something to pass the time, until she absolutely cannot put off her announcement any longer.

They slip into an easy banter, talking for nearly an hour before a cry is heard on Jenny's end, a cry that does not go unnoticed by Rufus.

"Jen?" He asks in bewilderment. "Was that a baby?"

Jenny considers lying, saying that she is babysitting for a neighbor, if only so she can continue this easy conversation with her dad. They haven't spoken like this in ages, and she wants to prolong the moment for as long as she can.

"Jenny?" Her father's voice grows more alarmed at her silence. "Jen, is that—"

"One second, dad," she says quietly, putting the phone down to collect her son. But before she can make it two steps to his room, Dan appears out of seemingly nowhere, holding up a hand.

"Is that dad?" He asks, nodding towards the phone in her hand. The conversation last night between Dan and her had been painful, to say in the least. Even her own brother judged her for what she had done, and although he assured her that it meant nothing to him, she saw the judgment in his eyes. Shamefaced, she had decided it was better to get it over with and tell her mother as well. Alison's reaction had been different than Dan's. She, too, had attempted understanding, telling Jenny that there was nothing to be done, and she loved the baby all the same. But the disappointment in her expression was clear as day, and when Alison exited the house under the pretense of taking Argus out for a walk, Jenny knew that she was wondering what she had done to deserve such a daughter.

Jenny nods in agreement, and Dan smiles encouragingly. "He loves you, Jenny, no matter what. We all do."

Jenny simply nods again, tears pricking at the back of her eyelids.

"I'll get him," Dan says, already blocking her way to her son's room. "The sooner you do it, the better you'll feel," he assures her.

"If you say so," Jenny mutters.

"Hey dad," she says resignedly, and at her dad's sharp exhale, knows that Rufus is nearly tearing his hair out. "I was—"

"You don't have to lie to me, Jen," Rufus assures her quietly. "It all makes sense now. Why I wasn't allowed to visit. Those ignored calls. Why Dan's still up there."

"Dad," Jenny whispers. "I'm so sorry. I—"

"You have nothing to apologize for," Rufus is quick to assure her. "I'm not angry. Just… hurt. If you guys were trying to protect me, I'm alright. I've got Lily now - I can handle this."

"I didn't want anyone to know," Jenny pleads. "Please forgive me, dad. It was just mom, and then Nate found out—then everything fell apart. I was going to give him away—"

"You—you what?" Rufus stumbles over his words.

"I was going to give him up for adoption," Jenny admits. "No one was supposed to know, and I was supposed to continue on with my life."

There is a moment of silence, prompting Jenny to check if her dad is still on the phone.

"I'm here," Rufus replies faintly. "Jenny, _what_ are you talking about?"

"I'm—" Jenny realizes too late that perhaps her and her father weren't talking about the same thing. "Wait, dad, what are _you_ talking about?"

"Alis—your mom's, ah, well, your mom's new baby," Rufus says, clearly uncomfortable.

"Oh," Jenny is overcome with the strange urge to laugh, though she knows that neither her nor her father will be laughing after her admission.

"He's—he's not mom's baby," Jenny corrects him. There is a silence on the other end, and Jenny closes her eyes, wishing that she were doing anything but this.

"He's mine."

There is another extended period of silence, and Jenny begins to fear that her dad has hung up, or worse, fainted.

Rufus was never really the fainting type, though.

"Yours," Rufus repeats in a tone of wonderment. As if he were wondering whether or not he was dreaming.

"Yeah," Jenny says. "Please, dad, you have to understand, I was under a lot of stress—"

"You were pregnant," Rufus states.

Jenny bites her lip, deciding it was best to let her father deal with this in his own way rather than attempting to explain.

"Yes," she answers simply.

"And you were going to give up the child," Rufus states again. Jenny responds in the affirmative, and the conversation continues in the same vein for the next few minutes, until Rufus finally asks the question that Jenny fears. A question that has no answer.

"Who's the father?"

"I—"

"It's Chuck Bass, isn't it?" Rufus questions, and Jenny can see the anger and disappointment in his eyes, even though she is miles away.

"I—I don't know," Jenny concedes quietly.

"What do you mean?" Rufus asks, a note of incredulity creeping into his voice. "If you don't know, that probably means you—"

"Slept with someone else," Jenny finishes the sentence with a wince. "I'm sorry, dad. I was screwed up. I was hurt. I didn't know what I was doing, and I just wanted to forget. I just wanted everything to go away, to—"

"Jenny," her father interrupts her babbling speech, his tone clearly controlled, but calm nonetheless. "Jenny, it's going to be alright."

She has heard those five words before, and recently from Dan and her mom. But coming from her dad, they are… different. They have _meaning._

Those five words coming from her dad means that everything will be alright. That even if her baby has Chuck Bass, or a boy with floppy brown hair and blue eyes and no name, for a father, everything will be alright.

Her dad had said so.

And that gave her the courage to do what she had to do next.

Namely, the most difficult feat she has ever had to execute.

Well, second to giving birth. She may love her son, but giving birth to him was a bitch.

* * *

tbc

* * *

Tu es très intelligente pour une jeune fille.

_You are very intelligent for a young girl._

Je sais.

_I know._

Tu es correct. Mais, ce qui s'il est marié?

_You are right. But what if he is married?_


End file.
